Thirteen Nightmares Ascend
by Anonymous Void
Summary: Sequel to Genesis, on ShadowMajin's account. Gotham has changed in three years. The city has fallen back into old habits as the mob reasserts itself and costumed men ferment chaos in the streets. Batman will need to relearn this city before forces unseen tear it apart.
1. Kick in the Face

Author's Note: Fans of _Genesis_ and the series of Batman stories that myself, Anonymous Void, and ShadowMajin, here it is, the follow-up. We return to the streets of Gotham at last with a new plot and all the history that started with _The Ninth Circle_ and onwards. Yes, this is being posted from my account and not ShadowMajin's. That was his decision, especially since the plot for this fifth story is kinda like my brainchild here. He definitely worked as hard on it as I have. If you want to get up to speed, go to SM's account. If you are caught up, then sit back and enjoy the ride.

Disclaimer: We do not own Batman

Kick to the Face

The SUV pulled into the parking garage, escaping the cold streets of Gotham City as it sought shelter. The heater was set on high to protect against the chilly weather, however that was not the only heat in the vehicle.

Within the transport were several men, all masked and packing heat in the form of shotguns, pistols, and one automatic. One could make the joke that this was what they wore to grab groceries, but the true objective was something much more valuable.

The garage they had pulled into happened to be placed next to a diamond exchange. Earlier that day, a miscellaneous armor truck had pulled in to drop off a pricy shipment of some very cold stones. The leader of this group had been planning for this day for some time, watching the exchange like a hawk, studying the routine of this place for several weeks. He knew the ins and outs, knew about the security system, and more importantly knew how to bust into it.

The only problem was that he wouldn't be able to pull it off by himself. That was why he had all the muscle here. Well, not entirely muscle. Needed a few couple guys to hack into the systems and get to places he couldn't.

He had ambition, certainly, but ambition wasn't going to get you into a diamond exchange.

"Ready to do a little shopping, boys?" the leader asked as he checked his pistol, making sure it was locked and loaded.

His reply came in the sound of several clicks. Safeties were off.

"Remember, our hacker, Jameson, needs to break the code to get in. That's twenty seconds. Our man on the roof will disable the security, but that will give us a small window to get to the vault. We'll have two minutes before he cuts power entirely so I hope none of you are afraid of the dark."

"We got it," a man in the back grunted.

"This is the payday. All goes well and we'll be living like fucking kings," the leader reminded them.

"Shut the fuck up and lets get this over with," a second man spat out.

Rolling his eyes, the leader gave the order. The SUV's doors were shoved open on all sides, the group spilling out as they headed towards the little known back entrance to the exchange. Told you the leader of this gang had been watching this place. It had been through this door that the diamonds had been brought in, which meant that the safe couldn't be too far from it.

Jameson, or the code name the leader had insisted on, was the first to reach the door, pulling out a gadget that the leader did not know much about. All he knew was that once it was on the keypad, it was going to open the door. So long as it did what it was supposed to do, the leader didn't give a shit what it was. This was the pay off, what he had been planning for.

"Twenty seconds," Jameson hissed, prompting the leader to look at his watch, timing them.

When the ten second mark had passed, the leader was feeling more and more pumped. Just ten more seconds, ten more little seconds, and they were-

There was the cocking of a gun at the fifteen second mark. Though peeved, the leader decided to ignore it. Now was not the time to be nitpicking. If someone forgot to check their weapon, at least it was ready now.

"Who the fuck?" one of his men spoke. That was all the warning the leader had before a chunk of concrete beside his head exploded from a shotgun blast.

He was falling to the ground, frantically looking around until he spotted a figure covered in darkness. Outside of shape, he couldn't tell who or what that was, but then he spotted twin peaks on what looked like a head. No way, it couldn't…

The figure fell back as one of his men returned fired, gun flashes lighting up the garage for an instant. For that short period of time, the figure in darkness was revealed to be a man in a dark-colored ensemble that was supposed to look like armor. It was hard to tell from this distance, but the leader could have sworn that the armor looked plastic.

More gunshots from the right alerted to the men that they had more company than one intruder. These gunshots, though, were accompanied by the headlights of a pickup flashing on, revealing a group of gun-wielding Batmen.

"We got you surrounded!" one of the Batmen shouted.

"You've got to be fucking-" the leader began to say, but he was interrupted by his men returning fire. See, this was a problem with hired muscle. They always acted first and thought second.

None of that changed the fact that he was out in the open where he would be easily sniped if he didn't do anything about it.

"Take cover!" he roared, scrambling to one of the nearest pillars that supported the upper floors of the garage. Bullets struck the concrete floor around him as he made his dash, but he reached safety without being scratched. Okay, time to fill these assholes up with some lead. No one botched his score!

Waiting a few seconds, he leaned out from behind the pillar, and fired a couple shots before pulling back. The return fire was predictable, pieces of concrete shattering off. He waited until the count of ten before returning his own fire, downing one of the Batmen in the process.

The hell was happening to this city when grown men began dressing up in stupid bat costumes...

Say what he wanted, at least the boys he picked up for this gig knew what to do in a gunfight. He hadn't lost any yet as they had taken cover like he had. Oh wait, looked like Jameson was hit. Shit! He needed him!

God damn it, they were over the two minute limit too.

This was supposed to be his night, damn it! _His_ night! The night where he turned things all around with a huge score! But no, those bastards in the bat costumes had to screw that up.

In rage, he fired off an entire clip from his gun, taking out one of the headlights along with one of the men firing at him. Spent, he was back to taking cover, releasing the empty clip and replacing it with a full one. Cocking it to fill the chamber with a round, he readied himself for another shot when something caught his eye.

From his position, he had a view of the city outside of the garage. It wasn't the view of a building that had grabbed his attention; more like something moving against it. It was small, at least from this distance, and blending in a bit with the night. Whatever, it couldn't be important.

At least, that was what he thought until whatever it was starting to become bigger very fast. He heard an odd fluttering sound right before the bottom of two boots smashed into his face.

* * *

One down.

Too many bullets flying around. Time to take control of this.

Batman pulled out a grappling gun and stepped out from the cover provided by the garage's supports. It took less than a second to aim and fire, the grappling hook striking the weapon held in one of the costumed men's hands. Swinging his arm, the grapple followed suit until he struck another costumed man's leg.

Retract.

The man in question was pulled off his feet, and dragged at an accelerated rate against the garage floor, giving a scream as he did so. The screaming ended when a well-placed fist rammed into his head.

Element of surprise gone, he was acting before the armed men could figure out what was happening. He threw out a canister of tear gas to block out the gunmen's sight as well as to provide him cover. Bat-shaped shuriken sliced through the air, cries of pain shouting out while Batman leaped at one of the costumed men. A tackle took him down, followed by a blow to the face, knocking the man's head into the pavement, and effectively knocking him out.

He leapt towards the nearest costumed man, rolling against the garage floor. Pushing up with his legs, he grabbed hold of the man's shotgun and rammed it into his face, another one down.

Yanking the shotgun out of the unconscious' man's hands, he threw it as a projectile into the next costumed man, getting him in the head. With him dazed, it was easy to finish him off, and have him going to join his comrades.

From the corner of his lensed eye, he spotted one of the masked men stumble away from the mist of tear gas, pulling at his mask to try and wipe at his eyes. Batman sprinted at his next target, smashing the heel of his palm into the man's nose. He kicked the man's legs out from under him, then brought the heel of his other palm down into his chest, slamming him down onto the floor.

Next target; this one was crouched on the floor, head bent and unarmed. He rushed to take this one down with a kick only to be surprised when the man, still crouched, bent back and caught his foot. In response, Batman brought his hands on the man's shoulders followed by his knee into the man's face.

He was pulled as the man felled back, but the Batman went into a roll to put some distance between them. Who was next?

A bullet struck his shoulder, jerking his attention at a masked man pressed up against the building, wounded from a gunshot. Pulling out a small device from his belt, a press of a button fired a charge at the wounded man, effectively tasing him.

A blow to the head made him stumble to a side, but he was quick to recover, blocking the following fist from striking him. He swung a blow at his attacker, getting him in the face. Unlike the other men here, this one was able to take the blow. Bringing a leg between them, the man shoved Batman away with his foot, taking a step back while pulling out a military-grade knife out.

Military, hmm? Good.

The man charged at him, slicing his blade at the vigilante with deadly intent. Batman dodged the first, the second, and third strikes, reading the man's movements as he devised a counter. As the man tried for a fourth strike, Batman caught him by his wrist and twisted. With his other hand, he uppercutted the man's elbow, a sharp snap echoing in the garage as the man cried out.

Still holding the wrist, Batman grabbed the man's upper arm, and pulled, throwing the man over his shoulder and onto the floor. A stomp on his face took the assailant out once and for all.

By now the tear gas was dissipating, revealing two more masked men. One was still under the influence of the gas while the other was aiming right at him. He took evasive action, rolling to the side as bullets struck where he had been. Another bat-shaped shuriken provided enough of a distraction that Batman was able to charge his armed opponent.

A blow to the throat, a knee to the stomach, and one more to the head finished this one off. Now it was just him and one lonely gunman. A tackle, a punch, and that was over with. With all the threats neutralized, it was just him and a group of unconscious men.

" _You done giving those men a concussion?"_ a feminine voice said in his ear, sounding amused. _"Or do you still need to work out some more aggression?"_

"You have given the police the tip, right?" he asked in reply, scanning his surroundings in case there was someone he missed.

" _Did it while you were giving those bad, bad men concussions. Now what?"_

"Anything on the scanner?" He bent down next to one of the unconscious men, checking for any sort of identification. He wanted to know who these men were and what they were doing.

" _A couple Breaking and Enterings across town, but your GCPD friends are on it. Umm, oh hey, a silent alarm just went off...right here. Five minutes ago. Nope, it's quiet now."_

 _Already had taken care of him._ He took a closer look at one of the weapons used by the lot. This was not good; that was a military-grade semi-automatic. What was quickly looking like a common thug doing with something like that?

"Search for any seizures of military equipment in the last six months."

" _On it."_

"Also, I'm uploading whatever information I've found on these perpetrators. See what you can find on them." Next were the other costumed men, though vigilante may be stretching it. You are gone for three years, and someone tries to pick up where you left off. He could have envisioned a better legacy than this.

A bunch of middle-aged men with gun fetishes and hockey pads were not that.

" _So, when do I get to come out and play in your sandbox?"_ the woman asked. _"As much as your cave is nice, I do like seeing the sights."_

"Once I am able to modify the computer to receive information from out here. I need it to be ready to collect and analyze data without anyone being in the cave." There was no need to say who usually was responsible for that.

" _You know, when you asked me those questions-Can you stop a bullet in midair"_ she mocked, _"-I kinda got what you were getting at. Thing is, now I can and I can even do it before the bullet even leaves the barrel. A girl doesn't like being locked away because the guy's family might not like her, if you catch my drift."_

"I'm a bit short-handed, Zatanna," he replied, restraining his unconscious brood of copycats. It was a long story as to how his old childhood was inside his cave, and why she was now speaking to him through an earpiece in his cowl. Suffice to say, she was helping him out as he got back on his feet, though she had a few new tricks up her sleeves than she did last time. "You'll get your chance, once Wayne Enterprises delivers on the necessary equipment. We should be getting that in in the next two to three days."

" _You talking normal days or business days, because if it's the second one, I'm not gonna be happy about it."_

"Normal days. Some of this equipment is off the books." Less said, the better. Though the "bat computer" was one of the most advanced supercomputers on the planet, three years was a long time, and technology became obsolete in less than a month. The computer needed a massive update, and upgrade, if it were to continue serving him.

" _Whatever you say Bruce, but I am getting out of this hole in the ground. You keep me locked up here and one day you'll be pulling out flowers from that bat-belt of yours."_

"Noted. Until then, find where these guns came from." He located the serial number on one of the pistols, recording it onto the video feed through his eye lens. If it had a serial number, it could be traced back to where it came from, who had owned it before, and who owned it now. "I'm continuing patrol. Keep me updated."

" _Roger."_

* * *

Gordon looked over the small evidence bag. While important depending on the case, this bag in question held a bat-shape weapon, one that he was intimately knowledgeable of.

Someone was sloppy.

He placed the evidence bag on his desk, leaned back in his seat, and rubbed his eyes. It was starting to look like a late night. Reports of gunfire at a parking garage had brought the Gotham City Police to the scene of a botched robbery or burglary of sorts. It was hard to pull off either of those when all involved were unconscious.

There was talk about _him_ being back. Always it was in hushed whispers, some already starting to chafe under them. Those were the ones not happy about this "comeback" if you could call it that. Other whispers were more positive in comparison. Gordon would almost say there was excitement there.

He himself, he wasn't happy about any of it. Not one bit.

This could be another incidence of a copycat Batman, one that had better training and better weapons than the others prowling the street. Ever since that night three years ago, and the disappearance of the Batman, others had strove to fill those black boots with mixed results.

Maybe not mixed; more like bad. Hospitalizations and prison time for those caught. People who didn't need to be injured were being injured, both from stupidity and criminals. There were hardly any arrests when these copycats were involved. By arrests, he meant those guilty of some pretty serious charges.

Now, on his desk, here was something that spelled out something more. He had an eye for these things, and he knew who made that thing knew what they were doing. You could almost say it was professionally made, and there was only one man in a bat mask capable of that.

Damn it, it was starting up all over again.

The door to his office opened and a sight for sore eyes greeted him. "Problem, Jim?" Sarah asked him as she set a styrofoam cup of coffee his desk. From the look of it, it looked just the way he liked it.

Nice to have her back too. She missed the excitement from a couple months ago. Vacation time she needed to take was the reasoning for that, but he had missed her and in more ways that one.

"Many problems, none to be solved tonight," he told her frankly.

"I've...heard about the arrests by the exchange. Any truth to them?" Ah, being indirect about it.

He held up the evidence bag. "Look for yourself."

He watched silently as Sarah held the bag, scrutinizing the bat-shaped weapon held within. He noticed the brow above her nose furrow a bit, and had to hold back a smile from leaking out.

"This looks like the real deal," Sarah said at last as she placed the evidence bag back on his desk. "So what are you going to do about it?"

The million dollar question. What was he going to do about it? Recalling the prior three years where organized crime made a comeback, and Jokerz terrorized the streets, Gordon was more than wary about trusting this "return." What was to say that he wouldn't go away again? That this was trying to relive the glory days?

Gordon wasn't having any of that.

He had worked too long and too hard to let it go now. He couldn't rely on someone who was unreliable. Three years is a long time to be without someone you used to rely on.

"I'm going to do nothing," Gordon stated. "If this is the real one, then this won't be in the evidence locker for long. However, I will not have anything to do with him. I need to focus on the department and make sure that no one falls back into old habits. We've come too far from the old days to slide right back into them."

""You know he-" Sarah began but he didn't let her finish.

"That was then, this is now. He's proven he can't be depended on when he's needed the most. The best any of us can do now is try to do our jobs without any temptations that might lead us back to those old days."

"And what about him, if it is him," Sarah asked, though he could hear the disapproval in her voice.

"Standing orders are to arrest him on sight," he said. "I won't pursue him, but I will arrest him if it comes to it."

"This isn't like you, Jim," Sarah stated.

"Let's…let's not go into this now," he sighed. This was not a topic he wanted to talk about and continuing would only make it worse, not better. The last person he wanted to get into a fight over this was Sarah, especially since…

His eyes darted to the ring on his left hand ring finger. He didn't have to look at Susan's left hand to see an identical ring.

"I'll speak with you later, Commissioner," Sarah said, her way of letting him know that they weren't done with this.

Gordon didn't reply as she left, his attention moving towards the still steaming cup of coffee. Three years was a long time, but at least they upgraded their coffee from crap to barely able to stomach. A huge improvement in the department to be sure.

Just another reminder for him that if there were any eyes he was to be concerned with, they were the eyes of Sarah Essen Gordon.


	2. Late Night Business

Late Night Business

The eerie sight of naked trees, bare of leaves due to the change in seasons raced by Batman, his car following a familiar, yet unfamiliar dirt road.

It had been a long time since he had been here, the same with Gotham. Things had changed since his disappearance, the day he had died fighting for the city amidst unforgiving flames.

When he had last patrolled these streets, organized crime had been beaten down, reaching a low point that had been dreamt of for decades. Most of the crime family bosses had either left, or were killed defending their territories, leaving only one until the surprise appearance of the Joker. That had left a void that Batman had been trying to fill himself, preventing the rise of any promising members of the crime families from rising up to the family's head, or simply coming down hard on prominent gangs that had begun rising up in the wake of the weakened families. Everything had been working until his last night.

Now, new faces had risen from Gotham's ashes, new families taking over the territories of the older ones. A thought from the back of his head kept nagging at him that had he not died, the current state of the city could've been so much more different. It was a thought that made him grip his steering wheel tighter.

Soon, the road came to an end at the side of what appeared to be solid rock. It was actually the side of a cliff and the road he was on led to the entrance of a cave that smugglers used back in the colonial days. Used being the key word.

Not bothering to hit his brakes, he continued driving right at the wall before everything changed. Instead of seeing the face of a cliff, he was suddenly in a tunnel, speed beginning to slow due to the twist and turns. A glance to his rearview mirror showed a hidden door sliding back into place behind him. There were holographic projectors at the mouth of the cave, projecting the normal face of the cliff so no matter who was around, they would never see this entrance even if the door was wide open. Of course, if someone decided to put a hand onto it when the door was open…

Eventually, the tunnel opened up into a much larger cave. Hitting the brakes at last, the car came to a stop right on top of a platform. Engine humming, he turned it off, even as his view through the windshield rose up a little and then began spinning, stopping when he faced the tunnel entrance. Canopy sliding open, he hauled himself out of the car, setting his feet on the platform and began walking towards a large super computer.

And sitting in a chair before the computer was Zatanna, dressed in her magician's costume, from suit jacket to fishnets. Her tophat was missing though, placed out of the way on the computer console, giving the vigilante a look at the woman's long dark hair. She was looking at him, the chair facing his way as he approached. "Welcome back," she said, twirling a thin wand between her fingers. He noticed her eyes give him a once over, possibly looking for any damage to the suit, though she wouldn't find much.

"You know, if you're planning on leaving me in your little cave, you might want to bring me some flowers. A girl does like to be appreciated, you know."

"I'll think about it," Batman grunted as he came to a stop in front of her. Unfortunately, Zatanna didn't rise out of the seat, instead looking up at him bemused. Apparently she was going to make him work for the chair. "Is there something I can do for you?" she asked sweetly.

"If you wouldn't mind, I'd like to sit down."

"After your ride in the Batmobile? I thought you'd prefer standing for awhile."

Batman held back a snort. Ever since he started getting his head back into the game, the magician had been going on nonstop about his equipment, adding the bat prefix to everything. Batmobile, Batcomputer, Batarangs, you name it, it had had bat in front of it. It was slowly wearing down on his nerves. Apparently it was something she picked up from the...other...heroes she had allowed in the cave. That had caused him all sorts of grief when he first heard about it, but he was quick not to take it out on Zatanna. At the very least, she had made them not go up into the house somehow.

"I need to use the computer," he said through gritted teeth, holding back his growing temper. It wasn't something he was used to, to be honest. He was by nature a patient person, but for some reason lately, his temper had been much shorter. Perhaps he hadn't worked out as much aggression as he thought he had.

Still, despite his attitude, Zatanna just looked at him lazily, a small smile on her face as her eyes twinkled with mirth. "You didn't say the magic word," she sang.

"And what is the magic word?"

Her eyes widened innocently, as if she thought everyone knew what the word was. "Please," she said as if it were obvious.

In fact, it was. So, Batman tempered his impatience and finally gave the woman what she wanted. "May I have the chair, please?"

She gave him a wide smile at that, and that helped relax him. Hopping out, she stepped to a side and held a hand out to the chair as if she were modeling it. "It's all yours, Bruce."

Nodding his thanks, he took a seat and turned in it to face the…"Batcomputer." Hands going to the keyboard, he immediately brought up his document program and began recording the night's activities. Behind him, Zatanna stood with an arm resting on the back of the chair, watching as he worked. "So, I did what you asked about the military stuff," she said nonchalantly.

That got his attention, though he didn't turn away from his prompt, still typing rapidly. "What did you find?"

"Well, I found a shipment of guns and military equipment that was supposed to go to some army base in Virginia. Never made it. When I checked for any investigations, I found there weren't any being conducted."

The vigilante raised an eyebrow as he stopped his typing, turning his head to look at the woman. "None whatsoever?" he questioned.

"I know, right?" Zatanna responded, showing they were thinking the same thing. "Apparently, no one even knew about the shipment. Either people were pretending it never existed or they didn't know anything about it. Considering it was a government operation, I was hedging my bets on a bit of both.

"So I dug a little more into it and your big ol' Batcomputer discovered that the shipment tags were fake. Someone just put the order in at the last minute, it got filled out and shipped, and then poof."

So someone managed to hack into the military's computer system, filled in an order for military-grade weapons and combat gear, and disappeared with it. The weapons then popped up right in Gotham at a botched diamond robbery. Something about this smelled bad, the Batman thought.

"So what do we do next?" Zatanna asked, interrupting his thoughts.

"We find out where those men got the guns," Batman answered, turning back to the computer and began typing, bringing up a computer program. Immediately, it began hacking into the GCPD criminal database, just as he command it, looking through the names of criminals apprehended and booked. "The GCPD should have arrested and brought the men in from the diamond exchange bust and put them in the registry."

Finally, a list of names appeared in a window, Batman beginning to scroll through them. "Joey Bowman," he read out loud, looking as his relevant information and rapsheet. A few B&Es, armed robbery, and a botched bank robbery-a criminal genius, he wasn't. A glance at the man's picture showed him to be the first man he had taken down during the fight.

Of course, it was the picture that Zatanna focused instead of the data. "You weren't gentle with that guy, were you?" she commented.

The photo was of course the man's latest mugshot. One side of his face was swollen and red, the other bruised. Considering the vigilante had kicked him in the face and caused him to bash his head up against a cement pillar, the damage was expected.

Ignoring the remark, Batman checked to see what the GCPD intended to do with the man. "They're going to be holding him in lockup for the next three days," he read out loud again. "I'll just pay him a visit tomorrow night."

"Ah-hem, don't you mean we'll pay him a visit?" Zatanna corrected him, her tone sounding put out. It was only natural that she would say that, considering their brief discussion earlier in the night. The dark-haired woman didn't seem to buy his reasoning for her staying in the cave.

"We've already talked about this," he began, turning to face the woman, only to be cut off by her.

"No, you decided long before tonight that I'd be some tech support," the dark-haired woman interjected heatedly. "And I know you just got your memories back, but if you actually went through them, you'd remember just how bad I am with computers. You'd also remember that I can do a hell of a lot more than be your customer service rep whenever you need some faq check done."

"I'm very well of your new abilities," Batman retorted. During his absence, somehow Zatanna had learned how to wield magic. Admittedly, she'd been getting better with every passing day, but none of that had to do with keeping her out of Gotham. "And I'm confident you can help, but right now I need to be confident in myself. I'm just getting back into the swing of things and I need to get reaquainted with everything all over again."

The magician snorted. "What? So you can't have backup watching over you or something? I don't have to be in the heat of battle with you, but I can be, you know, across the street watching instead of sitting around in this dirty cave."

"I never said you had to be down here."

"No, you just expect me to do whatever Alfred did."

Suddenly, Batman stiffened in his seat, at the same time Zatanna's eyes widened as she shot a hand up to cover her mouth. The dark-clad man had squeezed his hands tightly together, forming fists as they began to tremble from the strain. "I...I'm sorry," Zatanna said softly, her eyes reflecting her sincerity. "I didn't mean…"

Batman swallowed the growing lump in his throat before turning away from her. "I know," he replied, just as softly. "I'll finish up here and call it a night."

He didn't see Zatanna's reaction to that, but he did feel her hand touch his shoulder, giving it a squeeze. "Good night, Bruce," she murmured before her hand slipped off of him. The sound of her high-heel shoes click and clacking against the ground told him she was walking away, heading for the stairs.

Batman knew she hadn't meant to bring up Alfred, not that way at least. It still didn't mean that wound was just as raw as it was back then. Even after he got his memories back, the pain he felt concerning his former butler hadn't waned. If anything, it was more intense than when he saw it happen.

 _That was when the Joker appeared. The man seemed to slide into view, coming to a stop by Alfred's feet, looming over the butler like a wraith. Alfred was looking up at the green-haired man stoically as always. The two seemed to be staring the other down, locked in some sort of silent battle._

 _The elevator doors chose at that moment to begin sliding close. Zatanna and Bruce stared at the sight, transfixed by it. The two men began to disappear from sight as the doors moved from the corner of their eyes and filled their sights. They made no sound once the doors met each other, blocking their view of Alfred and the Joker._

 _BANG!_

His head hung at the memory. The helplessness he felt reminded him of that forsaken alleyway so long ago. A sigh escaped his lips then. It was just another weight to his conscious, not so much as a burden but a regret.

And it would be one he'd live with for the rest of his life.

* * *

He had been around when the First Families had taken over Gotham under the guiding hand of the Lion himself, Rex Calabrese. He had seen the corruption of both City Hall and the police. He had observed as an upstart that would become the Roman ousted the Lion and took control of the city. He had been a spectator as the Families one by one fell, whether it was because of ice, birds, or clowns made no difference.

He had seen all this, and now in its culmination, he was the man now in charge. After fifty years, Salvatore Valestra was the kingpin of this city. For decades he had been vying for the top, but never quite reaching the level inhabited by those such as Falcone, Maroni, or Stromwell. For so long, his outfit was but an independent entity within larger organizations, permitted enough freedom to achieve its own goals yet always subservient to another.

"The Weasel" they had called him. It was a nickname that had been given to him more out of disgust than respect. Yes, he was sly and crafty. No one could argue he was stupid. If they did, they didn't live long. However, it was more that he was seen as a bottom feeder, someone mooching off the tit of a bigger predator.

Not anymore. Now was his time, the moment he had been working and clawing his way for too damn long. His only regret was that he was not in the best of health. In his youth, smoking was something he did for fun, so he was always having fun. Cigarettes, cigars, you name it. Too much fun. Then came the cancer that forced the doctors to remove parts of his lungs.

Nowadays he needed to keep an oxygen tank near him at all times. He would have moments where he had trouble breathing, and those were times when he was either incredibly stressed or shocked. It was a good thing that he had managed to round up enough loyal men to ease the burden of running his new criminal empire. Loyalty and little ambition were a fantastic combination in an underling.

Take Chuckie over there. The guy had a good sense for "business" and was always looking for new opportunities to bring in more capital. Never in a million years would that man ever consider rocking the boat. Maybe it was respect, fear, or the thought had never occurred to him. Regardless, Valestra would take a page out of Chuckie's book and not rock the boat either.

Now Buzz was a bit of a different story. Unlike Chuckie, Buzz was more brawn than brains, but that didn't mean he was stupid either. If there was anyone who might try a coup, it was Buzz. Fortunately, Valestra knew how to handle Buzz and keep him in line. Respect; more specifically respect between two men of their craft. Both were willing hurt people to get what they want. Valestra went the extra mile with his cruelty, leaving Buzz in awe and unwilling to cross him, even if he could benefit from it.

Plus, giving Buzz opportunities to prove himself worked wonders in keeping him in line.

Now, in this city, keeping people in line was important. Gotham was a place that made such a thing difficult. It was a city full of miscreants and people who didn't know their place. The worst were those who refused to acknowledge their place. The primary offender of that was a person whose name everyone knew.

The Batman.

For nearly two years, the Batman upsetted the established order, and ultimately opened the flood gate holding back the rest of his kind. The Iceman, the Penguin, the Joker, and all the rest of them. They tore this city apart and almost ruined it. Fortunately, three years ago that all ended. Yes, there were still the parasites trying to live up to the legacies, but they had no eye on the real prize.

That was the moment that Valestra had been waiting for. With the other Families gutted, who else was there to take charge? The McKillens? Those bipolar twins were too full of themselves, and unstable, for this. Bertinelli? A spineless pig who didn't know he was on the spittle. Newcomer Thorne? Not native, no way.

Gotham was his city, and from now on it would always be.

"Our bill to legalize gambling got to the Senate," Chuckie's voice interrupted his musings. "House passed it, but barely. Doesn't look like the geezers up in Trenton are going to go through with it, though."

Valestra paused to think about this one. "Who do we got in our pockets up there?"

"Only ten, but nowhere near where we need it to be," Chuckie informed him.

"Then we'll need to grease the way some," Valestra thought out loud. "Start simple, a few campaign contributions. Up the ante if that doesn't work. If we have to, give Buzz a call to help them sort their minds. How's construction?"

"Typical run around, but we broke ground."

That bill certainly needed to be passed and signed, else how was Gotham to become the next Atlantic City? Casinos brought in the big bucks, and it also made them primary spots to do some laundry. Plus, there was the new deal that Chuckie wanted to try out. Counterfeiting was a risky venture, but so far Valestra was impressed with what Chuckie had come up with.

"What do you want to name this place?" Chuckie asked. "Crews want to know so they can put up their ads that they built it."

Valestra had never been good with names. "Any ideas?"

"The boys have been throwing this one around: the Iceberg. Sounds cheesy to me. Personally, I like the Shady Lady. Has that kind of a ring to it."

"Call it whatever you want. You'll be the one running the joint," Valestra said, waving a hand dismissively.

Heh, Chuckie looked shocked. "Sir!" Yep, nearly speechless.

"This is a chance to prove your worth, Chuckie," he added warningly. "Mess up, and you know the consequences."

"Of course!" Chuckie picked up.

"Anything else for today?" Valestra asked. He was starting to feel the exhaustion now, something that his doctor warned him against doing. This organization needed him more than ever now.

"Yes, that new…'audition'." It was obvious that Chuckie disapproved of it, and that was a weakness of his. He could recognize some opportunities, sure, but he had a narrow definition of it. Ended up missing a lot.

"Send him in. I'll speak with him alone," Valestra ordered. "Give me a few minutes first." He opened the drawer to his desk, revealing the numerous prescription bottles. It was time for his meds, and he needed to take a cocktail just to be "okay."

It took a little time to get the right bottles out, Chuckie having left as soon as he was done speaking. Knowing that he was on a time limit, he had to take his doses dry today. Should have asked for some tea first. Would have made it easier.

Once his meds were taken, the bottles placed back into the desk drawer, he waited for his appointment to show up. As soon as the door opened, Valestra knew that this was going to make a long day even longer.

His first thought was wackjob. This...person didn't even try to look the part of a man looking for work. He was raggedy looking, his threads definitely having seen better days. There was a lot of patchwork with crude stitching, and that was just the brown-colored shirt. Don't get him started on the pants.

What stood out most was that this coward was wearing a mask of all things. A mask! And it was as worn out as his outfit. It covered the entirety of his head, small holes revealing deadened eyes that were a bit unnerving, not that Valestra would ever voice that. Over the mouth area was more stitching that formed a very crude frown that jagged up and down. Lastly, lets not forget about the rope around his neck that resembled a noose of all things. With that bit of it dangling down, it was as if it was used as a last minute necktie.

You know, this man reminded him of one of those beaten-looking scarecrows you used to see out in the farm country. So what was a man looking like that doing here?

"Mr. Valestra," the sad sack of a man greeted, his voice slightly deep like a college professor he had once met. Not that Valestra went to college, mind you. Let's say that the professor at that time owed him some money.

"I'll be straight with you. I don't know what it is that you are offering to this organization, but it had better be good," Valestra stated.

"What I offer is more than good, Mr. Valestra," the man replied. "It will change how you see the world."

One point for having manners, but if there was one thing Valestra disliked about a man, it was arrogance. More specifically, he despised those who claimed everything but did not deliver anything.

"It's one thing to say it, it's another to actually know that it will," he retorted. "I don't know who you are or where you come from, but let's get something straight right now. The only thing that matters here is results. Good results. Anything less, and the price comes from you. Painfully, I might add. So what I want you to do is prove that can indeed do what you claim."

"How do you...propose I do that?" the man inquired. Though his health was failing, his hearing wasn't. He detected a little bit of anger in that tone, though it was thoroughly suppressed.

"That's for you to decide," Valestra told him. "So long as there is no connection to me, you can do as you like provided that you show results."

"That's very generous of you, sir." Was that sarcasm he heard? Hard to tell.

"You seem like a smart fellow, so I suggest you use that. Make an example of somebody, I don't care. If the product you're offering...exceeds expectations, then you might as well write your own ticket from here on out. Do you get what I am saying?"

"Every word," the man assured him. "If it wouldn't trouble you, in order to make my demonstration a smashing success, would you mind if I borrowed a few of your men? To fulfill this task, I will need some muscle, of which I noticeably lack."

Valestra thought about the request. His instinct was to turn him down outright. In fact, his gut was telling him to kick him out and to never return. However, you didn't gain anything if you didn't take any risks. Plus, they had a few new recruits who could do with some breaking in. Perhaps he could kill two birds with one stone on this one.

"So long as you bring them back in one piece, Mr…." he paused, unsure of what to call this man. Now that it occurred to him, he hadn't been given a name or alias yet.

"If it wouldn't trouble you, I would prefer if you would call me by the name Scarecrow," the man picked up for him.

Funny, he had been thinking of scarecrows a few minutes ago.

"Very well, Mr. Scarecrow, but allow me to give you one warning. Do not mess this up. You get one chance and one chance only. If I am displeased, you will find a number of men willing to demonstrate it on you. Do you understand?"

Was it him, or was there a gleam in those dead eyes? "I understand perfectly, Mr. Valestra. Before this night is over, I will prove to everyone what I am capable of."


	3. The Phizer Heist

The Phizer Heist

Joey was not having good time. He was _supposed_ to be in Cancun, or Tahiti, or wherever that wasn't Gotham. Instead, here he was in lockup, waiting until the pigs decided to let him out.

His plan had been flawless! Carefully planned, set up, and it was supposed to work! He had the brains, the guys, the perfect moment, and everything! So where had those Batman assholes come from to screw it up?

How come he had to sit here with a full bladder while having a bastard's bootprint imprinted on his face?

It wasn't fair!

He growled, but fell silent quickly. This wasn't his first time in the joint. Either you were top dog, or you kept your head down and quiet. Being as smart as he was, he never called attention to himself. It was what he was going to do again until he got out of here.

You know, he was really feeling the need to take a piss right now. Too pissed off to do it, though. Maybe later. It wasn't as if he was going anywhere. It was just him, alone, with nothing but time.

"Where did you get the guns."

Joey let out a scream that was almost the same as a little girl's. Or he would have had a hand not gripped his throat tightly and raised him up off the ground. He continued to let out a choked version though, unwilling to stay quiet. It was when you were quiet that you got ass raped.

Blank, white eyes bore into his panicked ones and Joey quickly realized that this wasn't your normal rapist. Feeling the fingers around his neck tighten, the thug's choked scream came to a gagging end. "I'm not going to ask you again," the Batman growled at him. "Either you can stop your screaming and tell me what I want to know, or I can make sure you never talk again. It's your choice."

"O...kay…" he choked out. That was when the hand around his throat let go and Joey collapsed to the floor, landing hard on his ass. Gasping loudly, he rubbed at his undoubtedly bruised neck, trying to relieve the pain in it. This allowed the Bat to kneel down in front of him, glaring bat-daggers at him.

"The guns," he prompted.

Joey was about to answer. He had his mouth open and everything, when he stopped himself. How had this guy gotten into his cell? When? Wait, why did any of that matter? It was probably one of the freaks that were arrested with them trying to be a big, tough Batman. Well to hell with that!

"Why should I tell you anything?" he rasped out, holding his throat gingerly.

A fist slammed into the wall next to his head, black leather barely touching his skin. Bug-eyed, the thug stared at the arm. "The next one will break your jaw," the Batman warned him. "The one after that will crush your right eye socket. Keep pressing your luck, Joey, and each one will break something you _will_ miss. The guns."

At least he didn't have to piss anymore.

"I got them from a guy! I swear! Same guy I always buy my guns from!" he began to babble. "I got a record! They don't let guys with records get guns! So I-I-I-I get them from...Randy! He's got a van full of them!"

"Where can I find him?"

"He's-he's where he's always at! ...uh..." Oh crap, this was _not_ the time to forget anything! He liked his right eye socket the way it was.

"Where. Is. _He?_ "

"Swan Club! He's at Swan Club! Always has his van parked by!" he managed to force out, if only for the sake of not getting hurt anymore than he already had.

The Bat stared at him, as if his eyes could see any and all falsehoods. Joey prayed and begged God that he didn't have any in his eyes, even if what he said was true. Seemingly growing bigger, Batman hovered over him, bringing his terrible face closer.

"If I find out you're lying to me," he began in that dreadfully low tone, "you will be seeing me again. And I promise you, you won't like what I do to you then."

"I'm telling you the truth!" Joey protested. "I just pissed myself! Would a guy who pissed himself lie to you, man?"

The Bat glanced down, then looked back up at him, not saying a word. That was just as unnerving like if he had a fist up ready to beat him. "For your sake, it better be."

The next thing Joey knew, he was covered in sweat and all alone. At least, he hoped he was alone. He was alone, right?

Joey didn't get a good night's sleep that night.

* * *

While not as renown as Wayne Enterprises, or the former A.C.E. Chemicals, the small chemical company known as Phizer still had a presence in Gotham City. Unlike the previously mentioned, Phizer was steadily shrinking with each year, grasping onto whatever it could to last that much longer.

It also happened to have certain _ingredients_ that none of its competitors had, at least in Gotham. Let's not forget that privacy was a big deal for them, thus their location happened to be off the highway, outside of Gotham. That was why the man known as the Scarecrow was making a shopping trip there.

Scarecrow wasn't his actual name, only an alias, or a trade name. His real name was Dr. Jonathan Crane, former professor of psychology at Gotham City University. His area of expertise was fear, both in behavioral and neurological aspects, and that was where all of his research had been focused on.

In the past year, he had fallen on some hard times. The university no longer saw a need for his research, and had a difference of opinion with conducting experiments. In his opinion, they were all cowards, not willing to do what was necessary to push the boundaries of science to their fullest.

He was determined to continue his research, but with all things, doing that required money. Money, as it happened, was something he was strapped for. Since his dismissal, he had to engage in some odd jobs, such jobs that contributed to his new persona as a masked man.

All of it was done for his research. And now his hard work had borne some fruit.

In order to study fear, one must either experience it or watch others grapple with it. His efforts had managed to produce a substance that could manufacture that emotion within that individual, and so far the trials he had subjected others to had been successful. Unfortunately, he had run out of the materials to continue making it.

That was where his deal with Salvatore Valestra came in. If he could prove the merits of his...toxin, the costs to continue his research with a larger supply would be taken care of. Men like Valestra ruled through fear, so who better to have on your payroll than a man who knew all about how to inspire it?

With a group of men chosen by the mobster, the Scarecrow led the way into Phizer. Security was of no problem, not when the former professor has some of his toxin on him to neutralize them.

He wasn't about to say this outloud, but hearing the screams of the terrified guards was a delight for him. It was like listening to music, beautiful music. Best of all, each and every shriek was different so he never knew what to expect.

However, despite the joy he received from grown men sobbing like little girls out of pure terror, he needed to be careful with his toxin. Obviously, he did not have the amount he wished to have, and it was also in aerosol form. For those uneducated, that meant it was a gas which meant that it spread through the air quickly.

That was why he had an air filter attached to his mask, hidden away by the burlap so that it wasn't obvious and didn't take away from the mask's design. Yes, the design had been specifically crafted after multiple trials discovering what brought out the most fear from his subjects. That was also the reason why Valestra's men were also wearing gas masks.

No sense getting the hired muscle exposed.

The Scarecrow led the way into the chemical's plant's storehouse, more precisely its secured room located in the heart of the building, where his prize was held. To get there, one needed to get past the main offices and labs that were located on the first floor. Hmm, perhaps Phizer should invest in better security measures. Locked doors were the only thing standing between him and the materials he needed. Sure they were thick doors, but even thick doors stood no chance against a professional who was more than experienced with breaking and entering.

By that, he specifically meant breaking and entering into secure areas like this.

Putty and explosives jammed on the doors' locking mechanism were as good a key as one could get. Scarecrow had to hand it to Valestra's men; they were quick working and efficient. It would be a shame if any accidents occurred.

As the door was pulled open, Scarecrow took the lead once more and entered the store room, quickly scanning for the correct crates. It wasn't the largest place, thus nothing convenient like a forklift was around. Still, everything was stacked in their original packaging and from a first glance looked organized. All of it lined the walls so one wouldn't have to get lost in a maze searching for anything.

"Get the dollies," he ordered. "We're grabbing all of it." Inspecting the closest crates, he began passing them up when they weren't what he was looking for. "These," he announced, singling out a stack. "I want these."

As he continued on his surveying, the men began dismantling the stack he had chosen, moving as many as they could onto one dolly until none could be placed on the moving instrument. Those would be pulled out and moved to the truck outside. The process would be repeated until the stack was completely moved.

Scarecrow paid no mind to any of that. He was much too busy searching for what he needed next. He passed up several stacks of crated materials until he found the next on his list. Again, he singled it out and allowed his now sweaty hired muscle to take care of that as well. So far, everything was moving ahead as schedule. Once he found the last two components, they'd be finished.

As he resumed his search, he couldn't help but overhear one of Valestra's hired goons mutter to one of his fellow compatriots, "What's this cheapskate want with all this shit?"

Now, if there was one thing that Scarecrow did not tolerate, it was anyone criticizing his genius. It didn't matter if it was a master of academia or a muscle-headed ignoramus. He did not condone anyone making light of his life's work. Absolutely no one.

"Would you like to speak up? Make sure everyone can hear you?" he surprised what only amounted to a thug, his old teaching experience rearing it's head. "If you are curious about this 'shit' as you have termed it, allow me to enlighten you. Recall those security guards who are now in a state of shock. Screaming their little heads off like little children afraid of the boogeyman. That is what this 'shit' is capable of. However, if you would like a taste, I will be happy to help you further your education."

The thug's eyes widened and he held up his hands as if trying to placate him. Cute. "No man. I...sorry."

"Please repeat that. I am not sure if I caught that." Now he was twisting the metaphorical dagger. He couldn't help it; even from behind the gas mask, he could see the fear in the man's eyes. Yes, know your place.

Deciding to let him off the hook, for now, Scarecrow gave his next order. "These here. I need these."

As if aiming to please, the offending goon was the first in line to help out. A+ for the learning curve.

As the help was taking care of that, Scarecrow proceeding for the final ingredient. It was somewhere around here, he knew it. Now where was it hidden? Not there. Not in this stack either. Close but not quite. Let's see about...no, not in this one either.

Success! Here it was! The last of what he needed. Time to get it packed up and ready to go.

As he opened his mouth, he was cut off by the sound of something breaking.

* * *

There was a slight breeze that tugged at Batman's cape. Crouching on top of the Phizer Plant, the vigilante stared down at the loading dock, a truck sitting in front of it.

He had been notified of the silent alarm shortly after it had gone off, Zatanna having the pleasure of informing him. The GCPD undoubtedly received the signal as well and were on their way-though they couldn't have arrived before the dark-clad man. The Phizer Plant was on the outskirts of the city limits and wasn't a normal part of the police patrol route.

So far, Batman had only seen some crates loaded into the truck, so there was no telling what these men wanted nor how long they would be here. It seemed his intervention would be necessary.

That was when one of the thugs appeared, pushing a dolly loaded with crates. However, he must've misjudged something as he suddenly lost his grip on the dolly and dropped it to the ground with a loud crash. For a moment, the thug looked at the mess before he uttered a swear.

This was looking promising.

Activating the current in his gauntlet, Batman leapt off the roof, grabbing his cape and feeling it stiffen into its glider shape. Gliding away from the building, he circled back until he was lined up facing the loading dock, and consequently the thug, from a side. By then, a second man appeared, the faint sound of his laughter reaching the approaching vigilante's ears. Descending lower and lower, the distance between them closed.

It was fortunate that the second man had decided to mock his comrade, otherwise this maneuver wouldn't have worked as well as it did. At the last second, Batman released his grip on his cape, feeling it go slack behind him as he extended his arms out. A moment later, he crashed into the second man, knocking him off his feet and causing him to drop his own dolly.

One hand on the side of the man's head and the other on his shoulder, Batman forced the man down onto the cement dock, slamming his head against it and rendering him unconscious. The action caused the first thug to look up in surprise, which gave Batman all the time he needed to lunge at him, a hand going around the goon's throat. Tightening his grip, he squeezed down on the scream that was trying to come out. Drawing his head back, Batman then pulled the thug towards him, swinging his own head forward, headbutting the goon hard enough to knock him out. Feeling the man go limp in his hand, he then dropped him down onto the dock, rising up to his full height.

That was when he heard voices, causing the vigilante to whip his head to his left. He found himself standing right in front of the loading bay doors, right out in the open for three more thugs to see him clear as day. One of them was pointing at him, alerting the other two to his presence. A growl worked its way up the dark-clad man's throat as he shot a hand to his belt, pulling out a smoke pellet it. Swinging his arm out, he threw the pellet through the air, a cloud of smoke exploding in front of the men and blocking their view of him.

Charging, Batman whipped out his grapple gun and fired it up at the ceiling, hearing it make contact a second later. Hitting the retraction button, he rise off the floor flying up into the air until he had a bird's eye view of the goons below. Letting go of the grapple he fell towards the front one, the vigilante keeping his legs extended and pressed against each other.

His feet rammed into the first thug's face a moment later, knocking the man off his feet and slamming the back of his skull on the cement floor. Coming to a crouch, Batman eyed the two other thugs for a brief second, noticing neither had managed to draw a weapon-easy pickings. Launching himself towards the left most thug, cape billowing behind him, the goon began screaming until Batman reached him, wrapping his arm around the man's throat and silencing him by flexing his bicep. The moment his feet touched the floor, the vigilante used the goon as support as he again leapt off the floor, swinging a kick that slammed into the other's thug's face and knocking him to the ground.

Landing again while incidentally bending his captive backwards, Batman balled his free hand into a fist and swung it up, ramming it into the side of the thug's face. Relaxing his arm, the vigilante stepped to aside as he watched the goon stumble away, dazed by the blow. Instantly, Batman was on him, kicking out the thug's feet and causing him to begin falling to the floor. In midair, the vigilante grabbed the back of the man's head and applied extra force, ramming the man's face into the floor-another one down.

Which left one more. Reaching to his belt, he pulled out a bat-shaped shuriken-a batarang as Zatanna would call it-and spun to his side, throwing it at the last man. His timing was impeccable as the shuriken collided with the side of the man's face as he was beginning to stand up, this time knocking him to he ground for good.

There, five thugs down. Now-

Suddenly, a set of doors off to his left swung open, more men pouring into the room, stopping in there tracks once they saw the vigilante.

 _Damn, reinforcements._

Unfortunately, unlike the previous group of thugs, these men had their guns drawn, making them a lot more dangerous. So Batman did the only thing he could to buy himself some time: he took off running to a side. An instant later, the guns fired, bullets whizzing through the air behind him.

Hand going to his belt, the vigilante pulled out three batarangs. Twisting his body, he sent them projectiles flying, not bothering to watch them as he kept running and reaching to his belt again. However, he definitely heard them make contact, two yelps of pain telling him that two of the thugs had their weapons knocked painfully out of their grasps as the thud of a body hitting the floor informed him that the third bat-shaped shuriken had collided with another man's face, rendering him unconscious.

Pulling his hand from his belt, the Dark Knight began spinning a bola next to him, leaping up into the air and turning out, sending the bola whirling through the air. This time he watched the bola head right for one of the goons, who watched it stupefied before it made contact with him. The ropes wrapped around his body, forcing his arms and legs against his sides until one of the metal balls slammed into his face. Dazed, he fell to the ground, another one finished.

That just left one last punk with a gun. Not bothering to run, Batman pulled out another grapple-his spare-and fired it at the man. The metal claw hit the man right on the chest, clamping down as the thug gasped in surprise. Hitting the retraction button, the man began stumbling towards the Dark Knight, dropping his gun as he did so. The vigilante then reached out with one hand and grabbed the cable, giving it a hard pull.

This sent the goon flying off his feet towards Batman. Moving to a side, Batman raised an arm up and lunged forward, catching the thug with his arm as he clotheslined him. As the man's feet swung out forward while the rest of him remained still in midair, the vigilante grunted as he forced the thug down to the ground, slamming him on his back hard. The air was ripped out of the man's lungs, leaving him stunned and temporarily out of the fight.

Which left the two last thugs still grasping their injured hands. Charging, the Dark Knight leapt off the ground, flying towards them as the two began to scream in fright. Landing right in front of them, Batman shot both of his hands out, grabbing either man by the side of their heads. With a jerk of his arms, he rammed the side of their heads against each other, the audible crack of their skulls hitting each other and knocking them out cold. Releasing his grip, he let them dropped to the floor in a heap.

Suddenly, something moved in the corner of his eyes. Jerking his head to get a better look, all he saw was a hand pointed at him, a cloud of white gas spraying from it and enveloping the dark-clad man's face. Unfortunately, the gas got into his nose and Batman instinctively breathed it in; this caused him to begin coughing, trying to get it out of his lungs. Losing his balance, he began stumbling away, hacking up the contaminated air as best he could.

"It's a pleasure to meet a fellow follower of fear. However, you are interfering and that is intolerable. Now enter the darkest recesses of your psyche and know true fear," a voice rasped commandingly.

 _Fear?_ Batman's mind repeated. What was that supposed to mean? Obviously it was a side effect of the gas as this man indicated. So far all he was doing was coughing though.

"Don't fight. Give in. Give in to your demons."

There was a little disorientation, but it was nothing he couldn't handle. Box it up and shove it back. He needed to be in control.

"I see you fighting. Let me save you some time. It is in vain. Give in, Batman."

His coughing steadied as his clarity sharpened. He straightened himself, towering over the ragged-looking figure.

"Why aren't you…? What? That's not possible!" the costumed man declared, taking a step back. Batman could see the man's eyes that were only just visible narrow. "Maybe what you need is a second dose…"

All it took was a split-second for Batman to leap at the man, just as he raised his arm. Grabbing it at the wrist, he twisted it to a side, causing the man to cry out in pain. Reaching a hand up, Batman grabbed the masked man's sleeve and yanked it down, tearing the fabric to reveal a device wrapped around his forearm. There were vials attached to it, two of which were empty.

Calmly, the Dark Knight removed one of the vials as the scrawny man cried out, "What are you doing? Stop!" Placing the vial in his belt, he intended to run some tests on it later; for now, he had one last thing to do. Twisting the man's wrist more as he began to raise it higher into the air, the masked man began crying out gibberish, begging for the vigilante to stop. That was when he drove a fist into the man's stomach, forcing the are out of his lungs and leaving him breathless.

Reaching up, Batman grabbed the back of the masked man's head and forced it down, just in time for the dark-clad man to raise a bent leg up. The man's face collided with the knee, a sickening crack being made, undoubtedly the cartilage in the nose breaking. Bringing his leg down, he yanked his arm to a side, jerking the masked man off his feet and sending him stumbling to the ground.

For a moment, Batman thought the man would try to get back up, or at the very least moan in pain. When neither of those happened, he glanced to a side and saw the man lying on the ground in a heap, unmoving and clearly not conscious. Huh.

Well, that was rather anticlimactic. That just left him with restraining these men long enough for the police to arrive.

Taking a step to do so, suddenly a disorienting feeling overwhelmed him, causing him to stumble. Catching himself, Batman squeezed his eyes shut, willing the sudden wave to pass, which it did. Opening his eyes, he faintly wondered what that was about. Perhaps an after effect of the gas? That must've been it. Seeing as that was the only effect he felt, he'd worry about the gas' formula when he returned to the cave. For now, he had to restrain some people.

* * *

Gordon had to stop being surprised. Really, he needed to be. Sure, no one was expecting an out of the way place like Phizer to be hit, which explained in part why there was an almost twenty minute period of response. What was the kicker was who was leading the band of men to rob it.

As far as the commissioner could ascertain, the Phizer plant didn't have a lot of capital in it. The truck that was half-full with crates that resembled those in the middle of Phizer was a dead giveaway that that was the target of these men. Names of chemical and materials that he had a hard time memorizing, much less reading, only gave him a bigger headache.

Sometimes he wondered what this city was going to. The man in the costume that looked like it had seen better days was not forthcoming with any information. According to Lieutenant Harvey Bullock, the man had been anything but quiet when he was...apprehended. Now he was more quiet than a grave.

At least the men with him had some rap sheets and were easy to identify. In the meantime, they needed to figure out what was the motive for this botched burglary.

Bullock already had his theory: "It was the Bat again."

Once, Gordon would have been more than happy to hear someone say it. Meant that something was being accomplished. Now, it held more of a sour taste to it. A difference three years can make.

As he rubbed his forehead, trying to ease the tension he was feeling, he bent over his desk that had so many files on it, it was a wonder if you could see the surface of it. Standing before him, hands in the pockets of his trench coat, Bullock finished summing up the investigation at this point.

"We got the tapes on this place, we know that these guys were trying to rob it. It's open and shut, Com'mish," Bullock stated.

"I hope you're saying that when they bring in their attorneys," Gordon replied. "Make sure the charges stick, lieutenant. I don't want any of them getting off on a technicality."

"It's not as if these guys are mobsters," Bullock said. "What self-respecting mook would catch himself dead working with a guy who looks like he gets his clothes from the dump? Still trying to I.D. that guy by the way. Should have heard him yelling and screaming earlier. We're supposed to be afraid of him. We're supposed to bow down to his greatness. A load of BS if you ask me."

"Sounds more like an argument for the insanity defense," Gordon remarked.

"At least we have a place to put 'em," Bullock smirked darkly. "He'll have some company, though you'd have to be insane to even want to be there."

Yes, he understood the reference but he wasn't going to give it any more than its due.

"Anything else to add?" he prompted.

"Ya seem like you're in a hurry," Bullock commented.

"I am. I'm paying a visit to that new DA. Unfortunately, this has been the soonest that I can meet up with him," Gordon answered. "If I don't see him soon, he'll burn up my line with calls. He's a tenacious one, I'll give him that."

Bullock blinked. "We have a new DA?"

"You don't pay attention to elections, do you?" Gordon asked.

"Only when it's president, like everybody else," Bullock shrugged.

"Perhaps you need to start paying attention to local ones," Gordon told him. "This guy, Harvey Dent, has been a firebrand ever since Day One. It's almost like a breath of fresh air, to be honest."

"Now that you mention it, that name does sound familiar," Bullock said, rubbing his unshaven chin. "Why am I thinking of God awful ads all of a sudden?"

"Bad ads aside, is there anything else about the Phizer scene I need to know?" Best to get back to business and not further sidetracked.

"Other than the fact that the mooks were pre-wrapped for us, nothing much."

"What do you mean 'pre-wrapped'?" Gordon did not like that phrasing.

"Someone got to them before us, beat them within an inch of their lives, and left them tied up for us to find. I don't need to be a rocket scientist to figure out who that might've been."

Neither did Gordon. The Batman again.

"You don't seem to happy about that, Com'mish." That was more of a statement than a comment.

"I'm not jumping for joy, if that's what you're wondering," Gordon said.

"I hate to be the bearer of bad news here, but everyone in the department is asking questions," Bullock stated. "Ever since there's been signs of the Bat around, everyone was kinda expecting you to be a bit more...happy about it."

"I'm not Bullock." Gordon really didn't want to get into this right now.

"I can't believe I'm about to say this," Bullock muttered to himself, though Gordon was able to hear him just barely. Then louder, "I ain't the biggest fan of that guy. Would like to stick him behind bars with all the other loons out there, but the Batman has done some good. In a town like this-"

"I know the spiel. I've said it before myself," Gordon interrupted, not looking at the lieutenant.

"What's gotten into you?" Bullock wondered.

"Nothing. I'm just doing my job. Is there anything else?" Very clipped and very straight to the point. Gordon had things to do and one of those things was not to gossip about an irresponsible vigilante.

"No, Com'mish."

"Then get back out there and make sure we have an iron tight case," Gordon instructed.

He definitely had better things to do than discuss the return of the Batman.


	4. Late Night Visitors

Late Night Visitors

By now, most people in Gotham had heard the news about the Phizer break-in. Twenty-four news cycles and all that. Rumors that the Batman, or someone impersonating him, had interfered were everywhere.

The only person who didn't seem to care was Sal Valestra.

"I knew that Scarecrow fella was a punk," he told Chuckie. "All talk. Couldn't handle a real job."

"Why'd you let him take our boys?" Chuckie asked.

"To see if those boys could handle some manual labor. Everyone has to start at the bottom; you know that." He reclined back in his seat. "Tell me, Chuckie. Have you taught those boys what to say if the cops got a hold of them?"

"I want my lawyer? They better if they know what's good for them," Chuckie said, rubbing his prominent chin.

"Keep an eye on that," Valestra ordered, though it was not to Chuckie that he said that to.

It was to a much larger man with a huskier build that someone like Chuckie would kill for. With only a large mole on the left side of his face, slightly below the corner of his mouth, to distinguish him from any hired muscle, Buzz Bronski lounged on the sofa as if it belonged to him, feet settled on the glass top coffee table.

"Got it, Sal," Buzz replied.

"Make sure of it. It may have been some newbies, but we don't want some mess up leading the police to us. Any of them talk, you know what to do." Valestra really needed this to reach the larger man.

"Don't worry, Sal. I know what to do. It's what I'm good at," Buzz assured him.

Valestra nodded, beginning to feel a slight shortness of breath. He willed himself past it, not willing to show any weakness in front of his left and right hands. Preferably, this get together wouldn't last much longer and he could get himself some pure oxygen soon. Business had to come first, however.

"I need to speak with Chuckie boy for a bit. Would you step out, Buzz?" Valestra suggested, though suggestion was too weak a word here.

Buzz shrugged and swept his feet off the coffee table, pushing himself off the couch while straightening his tie. "Call me if you need me."

Valestra waited until Buzz had left. However, before the larger man closed the door behind him, the crime boss thought he mouthed the word "loser" at Chuckie. Chuckie didn't see it, mainly because Buzz did it behind his back, leaving only Valestra in the know.

It occurred to him that there was some rivalry going on here. Or at least it had increased recently. Before, Buzz and Chuckie could get along, but now that he was thinking about it, it appeared there was a schism happening. So long as it didn't threaten this enterprise, they could have it. Might want to have a talk with the two of them at some point to make sure they were all on the same page.

"No disrespect or anything, but did you have to call me that in front of Buzz?" If he didn't know any better, he would have thought that Chuckie was groaning there. It was well known that Chuckie hated that nickname, Chuckie boy. It was a habit for the crime boss to let it out now and again, and he saw no reason to change that anytime soon.

"Sorry, Chuckie. Guess it slipped out," he chuckled, not sorry in the slightest. Now to business. "Tell me something, how are things going for tonight? Any problems with the arrangements?"

"Everything is going smooth, Sal. We'll be getting the shipment, no problem," Chuckie reported. "Since we managed to get that one union outfit, things have been easy."

"Make sure they stay that way," Valestra told him. "The hardware we're bringing in is not the kind we want the cops finding out about. Remember that this is going to be a big expansion of operations. Anything can go wrong, so make sure that they don't, do you understand me?"

What he wouldn't give to have a cigar right now. Whenever he was giving a warning to his subordinates, it was always an added flair to add some tobacco smoke into the mix. It was especially satisfying to blow it into another guy's face.

"I got it," Chuckie said, nearly repeated Buzz's words from earlier.

"Good. Now there's one last thing I want to discuss with you, Chuckie," Valestra said, though he was starting to feel his body urging him to wrap this up. Oxygen was beginning to become urgent. "Neither of us are stupid. I bet even Buzz knows. My health isn't what I want it to be, and I won't be able to be in charge for much longer. Maybe a year if I can push it."

Chuckie was now as sharp as a hawk. The man wasn't stupid, and he knew where this was going. Valestra could tell.

"If tonight goes off without a hitch, and our expansion into arms dealing suffer no setbacks, I'd be willing to hand things over to you once I enter retirement," Valestra concluded for the other man. "Between you and me, of you and Buzz, you're the smarter of the two. Buzz has the muscle and ruthlessness parts down, but brains have never been his strong point. Because he does know how to do business, I am still willing to turn this organization over to him should you find a way to mess this chance up."

"No way that's going to happen," Chuckie stated, bold. "My best guys are going to be all over this. There's no one else you can count on to get a job like this done."

"Continue to show initiative, and I'll be willing to say you have this in the bag," Valestra replied. "Focus on tonight. Get through it. Then come to me in the morning with good news."

"Count on it," Chuckie smirked.

* * *

The more things change, the more they stayed the same. It seemed like a lifetime had passed since Bruce had been at Wayne Enterprises and they had done some redecorating in his absence. The lobby was completely rearranged with a new front desk right where the old seating area had been and the seating area was on the opposite side of the room. At least the elevators were in the same place and Bruce hadn't had a hard time finding those.

As long as the upper floors were similar to what he remembered them to be, his office should be on the top floor. The elevator ride seemed smoother than he last remembered it to be, almost to the point where he hardly noticed it rising up. When a _ding!_ sounded off, the doors opened to reveal a more familiar hallway, though the colors of the hall were brighter and warmer looking.

Stepping off, Bruce began heading towards his office, ignoring the doors to the boardroom out right. A wave of nausea welled up inside him at the sight of those doors and he wanted nothing to do with them, especially considering what had happened the last time he'd been in the room.

Thankfully, a door further up the hall opened and out stepped Lucius Fox. The man had definitely aged, a few more wrinkles showing on his face and his hairline beginning to recede. It didn't seem like anything affected his eyesight though, as he paused in the middle of the corridor at the sight of the dark-haired man. "Bruce?" he called out questioningly before his face lit up. "Well, welcome back, Young Man! I was beginning to think you'd never come back!"

Bruce grinned at the dark-skinned man. "I had thought about that," he said humorously, "but even traveling the world gets old after awhile."

Closing the distance between them, the two men met in the middle and shook hands. "Perhaps you might want to consider traveling again," Lucius joked. "The Alps must be a lot better than some boring old meeting room."

"Well, if you put it that way…"

"I kid, Bruce, I kid. Do you need a tour? I know a lot has changed since you've been gone."

"I believe I might." Bruce gave a cursory look around him then. "I notice you've redecorated."

Lucius shrugged his shoulders. "Someone in marketing thought it'd be better to create a more light-hearted environment for prospective clients, so they had the entire building repainted and moved everything around. I'm still trying to find the break room."

Bruce chuckled. "Makes me wonder what else has changed."

For a moment, it looked as if his fellow businessman was going to let that comment go by unanswered, but suddenly thought better of it. "We did move the boardroom. It's a floor below us now."

That caused the younger man to blink owlishly. "What about the one up here?"

"Well, considering what happened...it was decided that a different location was needed," Lucius said delicately. "The old boardroom is being used for storage now."

Bruce felt a pang at that, but he wasn't completely against the decision. He'd let it go for now. "Whatever you guys felt was right is alright by me." That caused the man in front of him to relax a bit, apparently holding himself tense through that exchange. Bruce really couldn't blame him. "So, when do I get to see the new boardroom?"

"Not today," Lucius assured him. "Nothing scheduled, though if I recall correctly, we do have a meeting with an accounting firm very soon. The name escapes me at the moment, but I'm sure it'll come to me."

"Then you can expect me to be there."

Lucius raised a hand and clasped Bruce's shoulder warmly. "That's great to hear. I best be going though; you can catch up with what Wayne Enterprises has been up to during your vacation."

This time the younger man sent a smirk at his older counterpart. "You didn't redecorate my office too, did you?"

"No, we left that the way it is. Everything should be the way you left it, though perhaps cleaner since housekeeping does like to keep dust off of everything."

Giving him a nod, Bruce then began to walk around Lucius, the other man dropping his arm from the dark-haired man's shoulder. "I'll catch up with you later then, Lucius."

"Sure thing." For a moment it seemed as if their conversation was over, but then out of nowhere Lucius suddenly called out, "Wait a minute, before I forget, there is the Rutherford Gala coming up in the next couple days. Wayne Enterprises has of course received an invite and I thought it might make for a good party for you to attend."

"Well, you know I never miss a good party," Bruce jested, shrugging his shoulders nonchalantly.

"Great. Well, I'll see you later."

And with that, the conversation was over. Turning away, Bruce began making his way to his office, mentally factoring in the gala into his schedule. He did need a big coming out party for his return and this would definitely provide him the opportunity. It might take some convincing for Zatanna to attend with him considering the last one they went to. Perhaps if he left out what sort of party it was, she'd be more likely to agree.

* * *

The docks were active tonight. A freighter had just docked at Pier 19, a couple cranes going to work in unloading pallets of crates from the ship's deck. All around, workers scurried about, ensuring the cargo was unloaded.

There was just a few problems with that, though. One, the freighter arrived well after normal work hours, so the lights that lit up the pier was like raising a giant flag up, claiming that something was going down. Two, the ship's crew were mainly comprised of Russians, who weren't known for using Gotham as a port. They preferred Metropolis and New York in comparison to Gotham, so there was little in actual trade. And finally three, there were men on the docks dressed more for some corporate board meeting than they were a shipping arrival.

Crouching on top of the pier's warehouse, Huntress gazed at the scene. Her dark hair and purple cape were blown about by the wind, thankfully coming from behind her. This caused her cape to be pressed against her back, though its edges rippled from the breeze. Her hair was another matter as it battered her cheeks and flipped around in front of her face. It was times like these she wished she cut her hair like Katana's.

Speaking of which, that Japanese woman had to be somewhere on the ship by now. That was her job after all, and who better to take on a bunch of unknown men than the chick with the samurai sword?

Of course, that wasn't the only person with Huntress. They were a triplet with her, Katana, and the blonde Black Canary. Blondie was supposed to be working her way to the cargo that was currently being set down towards the north side of the pier, right where they had predicted it.

Now that she thought about it, the dark-haired vigilante, the most experienced member of their team, was sitting on lookout. Something was backwards with that planning, the woman thought grudgingly. She should've been the one scouting out the cargo, not the rookie chick in fishnets and a leather jacket.

A static sound went off in her ear, causing Huntress to press a hand up to it. _"This is Katana; I'm in position,"_ a soft voice said.

"Roger that," Huntress replied into her bluetooth earpiece. These were basically small radios that allowed them to contact each other during their missions, a wise investment the purple vigilante felt. "How about you, BC?"

There was a pause before a louder voice replied, _"Almost there. Just...give me a minute."_

"Did your fishnets give you a cramp?" Huntress responded snarkily. "You're holding us up, Blondie."

" _Don't get your cape in a night, H. I've had to knock out a couple guards and whoa!"_ There was a brief silence as Huntress jerked her head to look towards the north side of the dock. _"Okay, they're bringing in a forklift. Looks like they'll be moving the cargo soon."_

From where she sat, Huntress could pick out the forklift Black Canary nearly ran into. The twin forks were being lowered to the ground, just in time to insert them into grooves in the pallet. Intently, the purple vigilante watched as the forklift raised up the pallet of crates and began backing the way it came, turning to a side before stopping and shifting into the drive gear. Driving forward now, it made a turn and continued going the way it originally was going in reverse. Creeping across the warehouse roof, the dark-haired woman followed it to set of trucks, where it slid the pallet inside.

Well, if this wasn't convenient.

Shooting her eyes around, she noticed several men milling around the trucks, a couple of which were waiting for the forklift to move away so they could climb into the truck. Observing them for a bit, Huntress then raised a hand to her utility belt, grabbing a small crossbow and holding it out in front of her. This was definitely smaller than her usual crossbow, but she only used it for a specific task. The small bolt on the weapon was coated in a powerful sedative and would knock out anyone she shot. Aiming at a man just below her, Huntress squeezed the trigger and fired the arrow, smirking in satisfaction when the bolt hit her mark on the back of his shoulder and the man immediately shot a hand up to it. By the time he touched the arrow's shaft, he dropped into a heap on the ground.

Instantly, Huntress shot a hand back to her belt, specifically to a pouch with more of those sedative-dipped arrows and pulled one out, reloading her crossbow with practiced ease. Ready, she took aim at a thug approaching her first target and fired, hitting this one in the side of his neck. He too dropped like a sack of beans just as he had jerked a hand up to touch her bolt. Another reload. Looked as if she didn't have another clear shot.

Absently, the purple vigilante wondered if she should inform the other two of her movement, but thought better of it They were probably busy with their own assignments.

Setting down her crossbow, Huntress pulled out a long cable and tied it around a small metal smoke stack next to her. Making sure the knot was good, she then picked up her crossbow and tossed the cable over the edge of the building, seeing it touch down on top of a few stacked crates lining the wall of the warehouse. A quick glance around told her no one was looking towards her location, so she took advantage of it to climb down the rope, sliding down it as quickly as she could until she felt her feet touch down on the crates.

Jumping off the crate stack as quietly as she could, Huntress began making her way to the side of one of the trucks, doing her best to remain hidden behind it. Looking around for any goons, she then quickly went to the driver's door, thankful for the rolled down window. Seeing an arm hanging out, the fingers tapping the truck's door to some random beat, the vigilante reached up to the handle and slowly pulled it towards her, watching it carefully to see when it became unlatched.

The moment it did, Huntress whipped the door open, surprising the driver as he let out a confused, "Wha?" Grabbing his extended arm, Huntress jerked him out of the truck, the man crashing roughly down on the ground. Pointing her crossbow into the truck's cab, she was pleased to see there wasn't a passenger inside and turned the weapon on the fallen driver, shooting him in the back. Silently closing the door, she then moved around the front of the truck, looking for her next victim.

The sudden appearance of another thug sent a jolt of adrenaline through the vigilante. Before the man could make a sound though, she quickly shot him in the neck with a bolt and grabbed him by the shirt, pulling him towards her as she lowered him to the ground softly. Jerking her head this way and that, Huntress made sure she was alone before making her next move. Instead of weaving her way around the trucks though, she climbed up the grill of the truck she stood in front of, creeping up onto the roof.

Now that she had a better view of her surroundings, Huntress immediately spotted three more thugs, thankfully by the back of the truck the forklift had placed the crate in. They were chatting with each other, not paying any mind to their surroundings. The only thing that would've made this better is if they weren't facing each other so she could pick them off one at a time with her crossbow.

Looked as if she'd have to improvise. Well, perhaps improvise was the wrong word for what she was about to do. She'd seen Batman do the same move without difficulty back when he was alive. It had taken her days on end of practice to perfect it herself and she was feeling pretty confident about her chances pulling it off.

Reloading her crossbow, the purple vigilante also withdrew a couple of H-shaped shuriken. Since she was a rightie, Huntress changed hands with her weapons, holding the crossbow in her left and the shuriken in her right. Taking her time, Huntress aimed at the nearest thug and when she felt ready she pulled the trigger. Her arrow hit the man in the back, immediately causing him to buckle and causing his friends to jerk back in surprise.

Instantly, Huntress whipped out her right hand and sent the projectiles flying. She watched proudly as they sliced through the air, spinning end around end until they made contact with their targets, hitting the two standing men right on their foreheads. Just as she hoped, they both dropped to the ground unconscious, ugly bruises appearing on their heads.

Smirking, Huntress holstered her small crossbow and lept off the truck, landing next to the three fallen men. Glancing around, she then crept to the back of the truck and boarded it, quickly spotting the crate. Seeing a crowbar hanging from the wall, the purple vigilante snatched it up and carried it to the crate, sticking an end between the lid and box and pulling down. There was sharp crack as part of the lid snapped, but it didn't stop the box from being pried open, long nails being revealed in the gap between the lid and box. Going to the other side, she did the same thing, tossing the crowbar to a side when she was done and shoving the lid up.

It wasn't all that hard to recognize the familiar sight of AK-47s, what with their prevalence in movies and video games. Lined up in row after row, she saw the weapons neatly arranged to fit as many of them as possible into the crate. Shooting a hand up to her ear, she activated her bluetooth earpiece. "Ladies, we're dealing with an arms shipment."

Immediately, Black Canary replied, _"How do you know...you left your post again, didn't you?"_

"Which doesn't matter," Huntress snapped back. "These guys are trying to sneak in guns. We're done pussyfooting around and now is the time for action. Katana, do your thing, girl. BC, it's time you and I started kicking some tail."

Of course, right then two men carrying glocks appeared at the back of the truck, aiming the guns right at the purple vigilante. "That's enough out of you, bitch," one of them said. "Eat lead!"

Eyes wide open, Huntress ducked behind the wooden box just as a torrent of bullets was fired, pelting the truck walls and crate. Splinters of wood and sparks flew through the air, washing over the vigilante as she cringed from the barrage. Well, stealth was definitely not an option anymore.

Reaching to her belt, she unhooked her usual crossbow and held it at ready, waiting for the storm of bullets to stop. The moment that time came, she leaned out from her covered and shot the larger arrow, hitting the man on the right in his shoulder and causing him to scream from pain. This caused his friend to hesitant as he twisted around to watch the other man fall to the ground and writhe.

Instantly, Huntress was on the move, putting her crossbow back in its place and pulling out a rod. Flicking a switch, both ends extended out, forming her bo staff. Holding it to a side, Huntress charged at the standing goon and at the last second swung her staff, slamming it into the man's face.

The blow knocked the man off his feet, just as Huntress lept off the back of the truck, holding her staff over her head. Swinging it down, she rammed an end right into the falling thug's chest in midair, forcing him down onto the ground, the purple vigilante landing with crouched on top of his stomach.

The man shot his head up, gasping for air that had been forced out of his lungs. Releasing her back hand from her bo staff, Huntress balled it into a fist and swung it down, punching the goon in the face and cracking the back of his skull against the pavement. There, that should have knocked him out for good. Turning her head to see the man she shot with a bolt, she saw him still crying out, wiggling on the ground pitifully. Gripping her staff with both hands, she dropped it down until it was horizontal to her before shooting an end to the goon, ramming it into the side of his face and effectively shutting him up.

Looking up, Huntress caught sight of a lot of activity on the pier and ship. On the freighter, she could make out burst of light and explosions from gunfire, which was just as quickly snuffed out. Men were rushing about, some of them heading for her location.

Grinning ferally, the purple vigilante shot off of the goon she was crouched on, rushing towards the approaching men. As she neared them, she let out a warcry as she launched herself into the fray. Bo staff swinging through the air, she slammed it into the face of her first victim, forcing him to a side, spinning her body through the air as she lashed out with a leg, the heel of her foot flying into the gut of another thug.

As her cape fanned out behind her, Huntress completed her spin, landing another strike of her staff to a side of the winded thug's head and knocking him out. Seeing her first target recovering from her first hit, the purple vigilante launched herself at him, back swinging her staff slamming it onto the other side of his head, causing it to snap to the other side.

Because of this, Huntress saw another thug rushing towards her from behind the man she was beating, a ridiculously large wrench in his hands as he held it back and ready to swing it. Ducking to a side, the dark-haired woman made sure to keep the goon in front of her between her and the new opponent; thankfully the guy didn't turn out to be so smart as he swung his wrench, hitting his own friend in the back and causing him to collapse with a cry of pain.

Dropping her left hand down, the vigilante pulled out a H-shaped shuriken and immediately threw it, watching the projectile hit the man in the head. Head snapping back, the wrench-wielding man dropped his weapon and fell backwards, landing hard on his back.

Not bad for a left-handed throw.

Unfortunately, she wasn't allowed to revel in her satisfaction as she caught sight of a couple more thugs, these ones carrying their guns. Instantly, Huntress ran towards a stack of barrels, taking cover behind them just as gunfire rang out.

Gritting her teeth, Huntress crouched behind her cover as sparks were tossed into the air from bullets ricocheting off the metal barrels. However, a few actually punctured the drums and a dark, viscous liquid began to pour out, much to her horror.

 _Goddamn it, oil._

Spotting a stack of crates, the purple vigilante launched herself towards them, keeping low as bullets flew over her head. Diving behind the wooden barriers, Huntress did her best to keep out of sight before an explosion rang out, causing the ground beneath her to shake violently. Bracing herself, she rode through the tremor, staying where she was as she listened for approaching footsteps. If these guys were throwing grenades at her, she wanted to make sure she took away the safety of distance between her and them to make sure they held back trying to blow her up.

When she didn't hear anything after awhile, she peeked her purple masked face around the wooden crates and saw the oil drums she had been previously hiding behind burning brightly, a cloud of dark billowing up into the air. There were a few men sprawled out unconscious as if they had been thrown through the air. Perhaps they had considering the explosion.

Her guess, the idiots shooting at her got too close to the oil drums and accidentally detonated them. There was a reason for those flammable warnings, people.

Cautiously, Huntress crept out and around her cover, looking for more people to beat the shit out of. Unfortunately, a beep went off on her bluetooth earpiece and Black Canary's voice spoke. _"Guys, cover your ears."_

That caused the purple vigilante to widen her eyes before dropping down to her knees, clasping her hands over her ears as her bo staff clattered on the ground next to her. Despite these precautions, a shrill shriek pierced into her skull, causing Huntress to grit her teeth as she weathered through the pain.

In front of her, she saw what could be best described as a distortion of air racing from one side of her vision to the other. The random piles of crates and barrels were thrown into the air as well as pieces of the pier being ripped up and thrown away. Faintly she could make out the sight of men flying off their feet, each of them holding their heads in agony.

And then, just as sudden as it started, it stopped. Everything that had been thrown into the air came falling to the ground, landing roughly on ground. Staying where she was, Huntress watched the fallout for a moment before she finally dropped her hands from her ears. Picking up her staff, she stood up on her feet and began walking to the origin point of the blast.

It wasn't long before she ran into Black Canary. Her long blonde hair stood out in contrast to the black jacket and leotard she wore, making her hair stand out more than it already did. She currently had her hands on her hips, surveying the scene of destruction she'd caused.

The moment the two women were in view of each other, their blue eyes locked on the other. "You had to break rank, didn't you," the blonde accused, not sounding the least bit happy.

"I'm not the one that took forever finding out what was in the crates," Huntress shot back, flicking the switch on her bo staff and shorting it into its base.

"I was trying to be covert and it was working until you sprung the entire pier into action."

"Hey, I was covert too, up until those two guys trapped me in the truck," the dark-haired woman responded.

"Not good enough."

Huntress just rolled her eyes. This was normal for them with Black Canary being a worry wort and her being a make-it-up-as-you-go kind of girl. Their styles definitely clashed at times, but it wasn't anything personal. Besides, Huntress would rather not have to go up against that scream of BC's. The pier was a good enough example as any why she didn't want to be.

"Everything is okay, we stopped the operation," the dark-haired woman said, seeing Black Canary roll her eyes. "We send in an anonymous tip when Katana shows—"

Speak of the Devil and he shall come-or in this case, she. A soft _thud_ alerted Huntress to someone else arriving, causing her to turn her head and see the third member of their little group. Whereas she and Black Canary wore dark colors, Katana didn't. Instead she wore a red skintight suit with a yellow shoulder guard. She sat crouched on top of a stack of crates, her Japanese sword shining in the moonlight.

"Oh, there you are," Huntress greeted her. "You get the guys on the ship?"

"Yes," the woman said softly before leaping off the crates and landing next to them. Her short black hair settled around her head as a yellow cloth fell around her left leg as she stood next to them, tied around her waist at her right hip. "All have been vanquished."

"Then we can get out of here. Put the call in, BC."

Again, Black Canary rolled her eyes. "Aye, aye, captain."

* * *

Chuckie Sol was not happy.

"What do you mean somebody screwed it up? Who? Women?!"

He was having trouble understanding this. Really, he was. Because none of it made any Goddamn sense.

He had told Salvatore Valestra himself that he had his best guys on this thing, and there was absolutely nothing that could go wrong here. "Count on it." Those were his words to the most powerful man in Gotham, words he had said only just this morning no less. Now it was past midnight and he was getting the news he least expected to hear.

As he stood on his balcony in only a bathrobe, getting some fresh Gotham air, he tightened his grip on his phone as his man continued to try and explain to him what had gone wrong.

"Let me get this straight. Three women, in masks and costumes, came out of nowhere, beat the crap out of you...and there was nothing you could do about it. Do you know how fucking stupid that sounds?!"

Yes, he was still trying to wrap his mind around it.

"You what? You...thought that one of them was Batman? But you told me they were women! A crossbow? What?"

The longer he was confused, the more angry he became. This was supposed to be simple, and not like the ridiculous heist at Phizer! This wasn't chemicals, just guns! How hard was it to move something in a bunch of crates from one place to another? Did he have to hold somebody's hand or something?

Leaning his torso on the chest high balcony railing, he rested his elbows on the railing and pinched the bridge of his nose with the hand not currently hold the phone.

"Okay. I want you to listen, and I want you to listen real good." He started out calm, but that was going to be changing real soon. "I want you to find a tombstone. I don't care what's on it. I don't care whose name is on it. Because first thing in the morning, somebody is going to be using it. Take a wild fucking guess who it's going to be?" His voice continued to rise with each word he spoke until he was nearly yelling. "YOU, you stupid, fucking piece of shit! You are fucking dead! You hear me? DEAD!"

He hung up without listening to anything else. There was no need.

Pushing away from the railing, he stomped back into his apartment. With his free hand, he reached out to the sliding, glass door, giving it a tug as he headed towards the only thing that could calm him down right now.

His liquor.

Tossing the phone onto the couch, he marched up to the small bar and helped himself to some cognac. Pouring himself a glass, he drank the whole thing in one go, not bothering to come up for air. Damn, that burned! He needed more.

A second glass went down the hatch, and only after that did he pour one last glass. He was going to do this one slow, he decided as he sealed the cognac. Back to the couch, he plopped down on it,, legs spread as he sunk into the cushions. Beside him was a lampstand, a lamp providing the only light in the room.

This was a Goddamn nightmare. Never in a million years could he…

He took a big sip to try and calm himself down some more. Not really working, but it was better than nothing.

This was it for him, wasn't it? Sal would know about this already. If he didn't, he was going to find out soon. Any chance of him ever taking over after the old man retired was practically zero. Nil. Nada. Not even a snowball's chance in Hell.

Buzz was going to get it now, he could feel it. He also felt that the brute was going to run it all into the ground. Sal was right; Buzz didn't have the brains like he did. The project for the Shady Lady, anything else he was working on, it might all go into the toilet now.

If only there was a way to fix this. Or at the very least turn it around. He hadn't been Sal's underling for so many years to be shoved aside for Buzz of all people. He didn't want to be known as "Chuckie boy" for the rest of his Goddamn life.

The sound of wind distracted him from his thoughts. Glancing toward the balcony, he saw that the sliding door was still open, the curtain that normally blocked it from sight settling down. Hadn't he closed that thing? Last he remembered, he only tugged on it...

Eh, probably didn't pull it hard enough. It had happened before.

Though, from what he heard, any open glass doors or windows typically meant that there was a bat infestation. That had been the talk he had heard from some guys from other outfits. As if some lunatic in a cape could have gotten passed him without him hearing it.

Standing up. he made his way to close the damn door. Reaching out to grab the door handle, he paused as something moved in the corner of his eye. Turning his head, he found what looked like some kind of fog or mist moving towards him. Looking back out into Gotham, he saw nothing that looked like a cloud or fog out there.

Lowering his hand, he turned fully towards the mist, his eyes following it towards a section of his living room that was covered in darkness. The light from the lamp didn't even reach over there. He was going to need to find the lightswitch, get some more light in here to see what was going on in here.

Before he could, something moved in that darkness, making Chuckie pause. What was that?

That looked like a leg...and that an arm...was someone else in here? If it was a person, they were moving towards him, slowly coming into the light.

"Who the hell are you?" he demanded, stepping towards his couch slowly. He needed to get to the lampstand; he had a gun stashed in its single drawer, just in case. Why'd it have to be so far now of all times?

As the figure emerged, Chuckie immediately noticed the black-clad left arm, his thoughts going back to the thought about bat infestations. Was this...the Batman?

A gray-colored cape covered the figure's shoulders and chest, which stuck out to Chuckie. From what he heard, the Batman had a black cape. What was…?

The figure's face came into view, and Chuckie's blood froze. A gray hood covered the person's head, showing only a face that almost looked like a skull with narrowed, white slits for eyes.

"Chuckie Sol," a deep, foreboding voice spoke. It jerked Chuckie out of his fear-induced paralysis. Oh Christ, whoever that was was still moving! And getting closer! He stumbled away, trying to get to the lampstand as soon as he could.

He was frozen once more as that voice spoke again.

"Your angel of death awaits."

Adrenaline rushed through his veins, giving Chuckie what he needed to dash the few remaining feet to the lampstand. Nearly pulling the drawer out, he snatched up the revolver hidden within. He didn't need to check to see if it was loaded; it was always full of bullets in case someone needed to be shot.

With safety within his grasp, he spun back around to face the nightmarish person-

There was a slicing sound and Chuckie fell back with a cry, no longer holding his gun. Instead, he was holding his injured right hand, blood beginning to seep from a long cut. His eyes trained themselves on his revolver, which was now in two pieces on the floor. Up his sight went to the masked person who was now on the other side of the room.

How'd he get over them without him seeing?!

"W-wha...what do you want?" he stuttered as he began to back away.

The person raised their right arm, pointing a metal stump that was equipped with one large, scythe-shaped blade on top, and a second, smaller, curved blade on the bottom. "I want you, Chuckie boy."

How'd he know that name?

"Wait, we can work this out!" he protested, continuing to back away. The skull-faced intruder pressed forward after him. "I'll give you anything you want! You name it! Whatever it is, you can have it!"

There was no answer from the nightmare, only silent pursuit. Chuckie just kept backing away, everything becoming colder—whoa!

He almost lost his balance there for a second. Without realizing, he had backed himself out onto the balcony! Shit! He was cornered! He took his eyes off the masked man, his sight taking in just how far up he was. Below was the entrance to the building, a glass pyramid sitting atop of four-pillared structure that allow people to park for a few minutes when it was raining.

And he was right above it. On the twelfth story.

He snapped back to his intruder, but the only thing he saw was a cloth-like boot kick him in the chest and over the railing.

Air buffeted around him as he fell, a scream tearing itself out of his throat. He threw his arms about, kicking his legs, as if somehow that would help him save himself. The next thing he felt was his body crashing through a pane of glass, then a second, until finally his fall stopped against a paved road.

Where everything stopped.

* * *

Watching from the balcony, the masked figure observed its handiwork before retreating back into the apartment. A misty fog surrounded it, blocking it from view to all.

The masked figure was completely out of sight when a nearby apartment dweller peeked out, checking out what all the screaming was about. "Was that the Batman?"

* * *

 **Author's Note:** Anybody care to guess just who showed up in that last scene? If any of you guys recognized that dialogue, then you should know who it is. If not, well, the image for this story should also give it away.


	5. The Rutherford Gala

The Rutherford Gala

"You're a hard man to get a hold of."

Those were the words first said by the vaguely familiar man. First there had been a knock on his office door, followed by a man in a suit who was in the doorway, hand still on the doorknob. Black hair was styled back, and what could be called a charming smile shone from a handsome face.

Familiarity soon became recognition. Especially as the man's voice began to sync up with his appearance.

This was Harvey Dent, the new DA.

What could he say, work had piled up and the commissioner hadn't been able to get around to meeting with the district attorney. Gordon wasn't trying to make an excuse, especially when this would be a man he would be working closely with until the next election cycle at the latest, and now it was time for some damage control.

"It's been busy here," he answered. "Have a seat," he offered with a gesture.

"Don't mind if I do," Dent replied as he took his first steps into the office. There was a swagger in his step, yet it wasn't as off-putting as Gordon would have thought. It just...seemed to be part and parcel of this man.

"So what can I do for you?" Gordon asked once the DA had taken his seat.

"Well, you can begin with filling me in on what you've got on the Phizer break-in. As you can imagine, there are some sensitive people demanding some answers," Dent answered.

"It's been a heist for chemicals that was broken up before it could be finished. If you give me a minute, I can get you the file." He took his eyes off the DA to scan his file-covered desk. It shouldn't be too buried.

"Have a copy sent to me," Dent told him. "I can look at it later. However, there is one thing I'd like to ask you about."

"What is that?" Gordon looked back up from the desk.

"When you say this heist was broken up before it was finished, what do you mean by that?" There was a shrewd look in Dent's eye, a sign that this man was paying close attention to the commissioner's every word.

"I mean that when the first responders arrived, the perpetrators were already...incapacitated."

"Someone interrupted and apprehended them," Dent summarized. "Do you have any leads on that?"

"We have suspicions. Follow-up is necessary."

"Did the Batman have anything to do with it?" Dent asked point blank, not even blinking.

It was obvious to Gordon that yes, the Batman had something to do with it. In the past few days, there have been more activity from the resident vigilante than there had been in three years. It was not out of the realm of reason that these men had been apprehended by that vigilante. Yet, he was hesitant to give any confirmation about it.

"As I said, there needs to be some follow up," Gordon said, being as evasive as he could.

"Commissioner, I want you to be straight with me," Dent said. "I don't know what relations with the DA's office have been before I got here, but I want to let you know right now that things are going to be different. There's going to be a lot more intimacy between our offices. If I'm not in my office, I'm at court, and if I'm not at either of those places, I'm going to be here." The district attorney reached out and placed his fingertips on the closest available space on Gordon's desk. "Regardless of where I am, I am in the business of putting bad guys away. I am in the business of cleaning up this city, and scrubbing away the scum that thinks it can take it.

"I get that you don't want to tell me everything. We've only just met. And you've probably only heard about me from those TV ads, which I'll add that they've could have been better. But things are going to change. For the better. Everything I've heard and read about you have been things that I like hearing about. Arresting those who think they're untouchable. Cleaning up corruption. Bringing a sense of integrity back into law enforcement. I like those.

"But there's one thing I'd like to clear up with you. I am not opposed to having the assistance of the Batman. If it takes one more mobster off the street, I will use what is necessary to do that. From what I've heard, you have a good relationship with him and I want in on that."

Dent had had him going. Everything that he had been saying, it had sounded good. Now the feeling soured.

"It is the policy of the Gotham City Police Department to arrest the vigilante known as Batman on sight," Gordon stated dully.

"Gordon, I respect you, but don't give me that bureaucratic talking point." Dent almost resembled a statue from the stony look he was giving him.

"I take it you haven't been paying attention to the papers," Gordon replied wryly. With a glance, he directed Dent's sight towards a newspaper resting innocently on his desk. The words BATMAN: MURDERER? screamed out as the front page headline.

"I've been paying attention. I just don't believe it," Dent retorted.

"If you don't mind me asking, why not?" Gordon questioned.

"Like many people in this city, I kept up with every piece of information related to him. I admit, I was like a groupie, hanging off my seat for each and every tidbit that came my way," Dent explained. "All the while, I was defending some of the men who this vigilante sent to the hospital on a regular basis. It's because of him I decided I needed a change in career."

Gordon raised an eyebrow. Whether it was out of skepticism was for everyone else to decide.

"I don't expect you to be impressed by that or anything. Everybody has their story. But I have been inspired. I want this city to be a better place. That is why I don't believe what the media is saying," Dent continued. "I've followed the Batman long enough to know that he does not kill. I don't know what happened to Charles Sol, but whatever did happen, the press has no clue."

"But there were eyewitnesses who have swore that they saw the Batman," Gordon pointed out.

"Both you and I know that eyewitness testimonies are unreliable. Get me some hard evidence, then I'll prosecute," Dent countered. "Now, I have an appointment, but don't think you have heard the last of me. We're going to be working together for a long time."

Gordon watched as Dent pushed himself out of his seat and headed towards the door.

Pausing, Dent added, "Both you and I know he didn't kill Charles Sol. I know he didn't do it."

A second later, the district attorney was closing the door behind him, leaving Gordon to his mess of files.

"That makes one of us," he said under his breath.

* * *

The Rutherford Gala was in full swing by the time Bruce and Zatanna arrived at it. Scores of society types congregated throughout the ballroom, a mass of black tuxes and an assortment of colorful dresses. Considering Bruce had on his own tux and Zatanna was in a blue cocktail dress, they fitted in quite well.

"I'm getting a sense of deja vu," Zatanna murmured in his ear as they joined the mass, walking side-by-side each other with Bruce's arm wrapped around her waist. Unlike the last time they went to such a party, the dark-haired woman forgoed the hat she wore and instead allowed her hair to hang down over her shoulders. The moment Bruce had told her about the gala, her first response was to raise an eyebrow in incredulousness and then remind him just how grand the last one they went to was.

Not even telling her this was a way to reintroduce Bruce Wayne to higher society won her over. What did get her to agree was him saying out loud how he was going to have to find a date, to which her eyes sharpened and she demanded to know just who he was considering. Apparently she was looking for a specific person, so Bruce had just said it'd be unnecessary if she went as his date. That pretty much sealed the deal and here they were.

"I suppose we'll have to do something different then," the dark-haired man replied back, keeping his voice high and cheery. He had an appearance to keep up after all. "What did we do the last time?"

"Talk with people, dance, met that friend of yours," the magician rattled off. "Hmm, I could do very well without meeting any of your rich friends."

"All of them?"

"All of them."

"I guess we're not talking with anyone then," Bruce joked then, surveying the room with a glance. He was recognizing faces he hadn't seen in quite some time.

"What? You have friends?" Zatanna replied by sarcastically. "Be still my beating heart."

Unfortunately, they weren't able to continue their exchange as a hand clasped onto Bruce's shoulder. "Bruce! Is that you?" an elderly man exclaimed, to which the billionaire shot a smirk towards. "Why, I didn't think you'd ever come back!"

"Pleasure to see you, Jack," he greeted the man. Jack Schnellings was an old family friend that Bruce rarely talked with. Outside of a few pleasantries, they were acquaintances at best and aware of each other at worse. Then again, Bruce could say that about most of the people in the room. "Surely it hadn't been all that long."

Jack snorted. "Four years I imagine. I wasn't around for that Joker nonsense and you went on that sabbatical shortly after."

"Really? Well, I guess it really has been awhile." Feeling a jab in his side, a reminder of the woman next to him, Bruce then cleared his throat before beginning his introduction. "Allow me to introduce you my date, Zatanna Zatara."

Immediately, Jack took Zatanna's gloved hand and raised it up, kissing her on the knuckles. "Truly a pleasure, Miss," he returned the greeting.

Zatanna withdrew her hand, giving him a smile. "It's nice to meet you, Mr…?"

"Jack Schnellings, Cultural Attache for the Cyrus Pickney Museum."

"That sounds rather fancy."

"Quite. I do all of the meet-and-greets with foreign investors and research on prospective pieces."

"Really?" Zatanna seemed genuinely interested in the man's job description. "I've heard many good things about that museum, aside from that one time where some gangster used it as a base, or something like that."

Jack looked miffed at that reference. Bruce imagined anyone would be considering that Oswald Cobblepot had turned the place into his private playground for a short while. "Ah, yes, that sordid affair. I assure you, the Pickney Museum has done much to erase that black mark on our proud history. We've been able to restore much of the art that was damaged during that event and have nearly recovered everything that was stolen."

"Nearly? What is still missing?"

"Our Tyrannosaurus exhibit." Jack sounded sad about this. "We've looked high and low for it, but I fear it is one exhibit that we will never recover."

"I'm sorry to hear that." Zatanna then leveled Bruce with a knowing look. "It's a real shame, isn't it, Bruce?"

The billionaire hid his annoyance with the question behind a smile. "It really is," he answered her, his hand slowly drifting down her back and to her butt. Giving it a caress, he looked at the dark-haired woman cheekily. "Though I am curious as to who would bother moving it."

Zatanna didn't seem the least bit taken back by his antic, gazing at him bemused. The dark-haired man wasn't sure what she would've said because Jack had to throw in his two cents, drawing the couple back to the older man. "You and everyone I've talked to about this," Jack said put out. "And we don't have a single clue since that Cobblepot runt cut off all of the security cameras."

That was when someone cleared their throat, causing the three people to look. At Jack's side was a middle-aged woman dressed conservatively in a dark dress. At once, Jack recognized her. "Oh, where are my manners? Bruce, Ms Zatara, allow me to introduce you my date for the night, Martha Wellington. Martha, this is Bruce Wayne and his date, Ms Zatara."

"Charmed," the woman said kindly, her teased blond hair giving her a motherly look.

"Martha, as you know, is part of the Wellington family that owns vineyards upstate," Jack continued to speak. "I believe some of their wines are on display tonight, aren't they Martha?"

"That's right," Martha replied with pride. "It's one of our finest vintages, I assure you."

"Can't wait to sample it," Bruce said.

However, Martha seemed to having something else in mind other than wine. "Before you do, I simply must know what you think of the Batman."

Bruce felt Zatanna stiffen against his arm, the young man moving his hand to rest on her hip to keep her from taking off. He wouldn't put it past her to take off at that moment. "I'm pretty sure we all have the same opinion of him," Bruce said carefully. "It's not like anything has changed since he got back."

Jack and Martha shared a look, something that the billionaire did not like. It was as if they knew something he didn't. "Surely you've heard of the investigation into him," the woman asked.

 _Investigation?_ Bruce looked to Zatanna, who returned his curious look with one of her own. Returning his attention to the older couple, he then replied, "I'm afraid I'm missing something here."

This made Martha positively giddy with excitement. "You haven't heard? Well, the police are going to investigate him for the murder of Charles Sol."

That name sounded familiar. In fact, if Bruce wasn't mistaken, Sol was a gangster from the Valestra group, one he hadn't gone after during his first stint as Batman. They just weren't that big of a threat at the time and had been pushed to a side. Now though, Batman was linked to his murder? Something about this wasn't right, considering he hadn't met the man in...a long time.

"Are you sure it was the Batman?" Zatanna questioned then, sounding skeptical.

"Of course, where have you been, darling," Martha responded haughtily. "It's been in all of the papers and the internet today."

Bruce tightened his hold on the magician, inadvertently pressing her up against him. "Must've slipped our minds," he said cheekily. "We were...preoccupied, you see."

Jack seemed to get his innuendo immediately, the same with Martha who began narrowing her eyes at them. "I'm sure you had your hands full," Jack replied reassuringly.

"Oh yes, you can definitely say they were full."

Martha didn't seem all that pleased with the direction of the conversation and so returned it to her original inquiry. "I say the city has its hands full with a lunatic running around killing people."

"And I'm still wondering how everyone knows it's Batman," Zatanna countered.

"Why, there were people that saw him there. He pushed Charles Sol from his balcony and left in a cloud of smoke. The only person that uses smoke in this city is the Batman, so it must be him."

"I'm not sure the police should be pursuing him for that," Jack interjected then. "Chuckie Sol was a bad man and got what was coming to him. In a way, I think the Batman has finally come around to getting rid of Gotham's trash permanently."

"Are you sure about that? Remember, we had a vigilante that did something similar before," Bruce pointed out. "And that one didn't end too well for Gotham."

Zatanna turned her head to look at the dark-haired man. "You think Batman killed this Sol guy?"

Bruce shrugged his shoulders. "I don't know and I'm not gonna say he did or didn't without seeing more proof. For all we know this isn't even the same Batman."

That seemed to get everyone's attention on Bruce. "You think there is more than one Batman?" Martha asked fearfully.

"Why not?" Bruce countered. "I mean, there was all this evidence that he died during the Joker Incident, and suddenly there are sightings of him again? Couldn't someone new have just taken up the mantel?"

"You make an interesting point, Bruce," Jack agreed. "And perhaps this new one is more gung-ho too."

"I rather doubt it," Martha sniffed. "In fact, there are plenty of people who think it's still just one man."

"Really? Like who?" Bruce asked.

At this, the older woman pointed a finger towards a man talking with a couple socialites. Dark hair, tall, boyishly handsome. Bruce didn't recognize him. "That's the new DA, Harvey Dent," Martha spoke. "And if you listen to him for two seconds, he'll tell you that Batman had nothing to do with the killings and that it must be Bigfoot or some crock."

"Is that so?" Bruce then looked at Zatanna, giving her a charming smile. "Then perhaps we should have him join our conversation, just for another perspective. What do you think?"

"Fine by me." Zatanna then gave a gracious smile to the older couple. "It was nice meeting you."

Before any other words were said, Bruce led his date away, Jack and Martha calling out their goodbyes. "Tell me you didn't kill this guy," Zatanna whispered lowly the moment they were out of hearing distance, any chatter they made being swallowed up by the voices of the other guests.

"I didn't," Bruce replied disgruntled.

Before he could ask why she would ask such a ridiculous question, the dark-haired woman responded, "I just wanted to hear it with my own ears."

The thought that Zatanna had even harbored a moment's doubt upsetted Bruce. Unfortunately, now wasn't the time to speak of it. Still, he couldn't help himself say, "You shouldn't have to ask."

"Normally, no," she admitted, "but you haven't been normal in years. For all I know, you have some of those crazy ninja teachings telling you to kill people in your sleep."

As ridiculous as that sounded, it wasn't out of the realm of possibility sadly. The dark-haired man decided to give some leniency on his date's suspicions for now. "Touche," he murmured.

"So, are you really interested in this Dent guy? Or were you just using him as an excuse?"

"Both. Considering Dent is the new District Attorney, I'd like to know just where his sympathies lie when it comes to Batman. Also, Martha was beginning to annoy me."

A smile graced Zatanna's face and Bruce found himself enjoying it. "That makes two of us," she whispered to him, her hot breath caressing his ear pleasantly. Right about then they reached Dent, who was bidding farewell to his current company. Whatever he had said last to them Bruce missed as he had been distracted by Zatanna's response. It seemed he was going to have to start up the pending conversation from scratch.

"Good evening," the dark-haired man began, causing Dent to turn and look at him. "I hear you're our new DA."

"I am," Dent returned, looking relaxed at the couple. "And you must be the illustrious Bruce Wayne."

Bruce feigned being shocked. "How'd you know?"

"Aside from everyone saying your name the moment you entered the room?" Dent replied humorously. "The beautiful woman you have at your side is also a dead giveaway. She's easily the most beautiful one in the room and you don't settle for less."

"I'm pretty sure half of that was an insult," Zatanna muttered under her breath, so low that only Bruce caught it. Then in a louder tone, "I'll take your compliment, Mr…?"

Dent held a hand up. "Dent. Harvey Dent."

Bruce began to accept the offered handshake, but Zatanna beat him to the punch, giving the District Attorney a solid handshake, much to both men's surprise. The moment the woman let go, Bruce was quick to offer his own handshake. Apparently someone had been practicing their own while they'd been separated.

"You have a strong handshake," Dent remarked, unable to tear his eyes away from the magician. "Mind if I ask you your name?"

"Zatara. Zatanna Zatara," Zatanna answered mockingly, though it was clear Dent took her joke in stride as he gave her a small smile. However, Bruce was quick to note a rather predatory glint in the man's eye.

"You know, I recognize that name," Dent said as he shoved his hands not his pockets. "Very unique you know."

"Well, I do like to stick out," Zatanna replied.

"I also recognized it from the Joker's attack on the Jezebel Theater. You were the main act that night."

Zatanna's amusement vanished at the mentioning of the Joker's name. "That's right," she said guardedly, her opinion of the man dropping in her eyes.

Dent didn't seem the least bit taken back by the chilly reception, pressing on without a care, or so it would seem. "Which means you were there when the Batman stopped him. I gotta admit, I'm pretty excited to meet someone who's seen him up close and in action."

"That's different," Bruce remarked, attempting to take Dent's attention off of Zatanna. He could feel the woman's uncomfortableness with every passing word, so it was time to give her a breather. "Everyone here seems to think he's lost it."

"You're talking about the Chuckie Sol murder," the DA immediately referenced, his giddiness taking a step back. "I take it you're of the opinion that he did it."

"And I take it you're of the opinion he didn't."

"Can you blame me?" Dent gestured to the rest of the party, not the least bit thrilled looking at them. "For years the Batman protected our streets, not once taking a life. Now you have people claiming without a shred of evidence that he murdered a gangster right out of the blue."

"There were eyewitnesses," Bruce pointed out.

"That were a hundred yards away," Dent countered. "If I were to ask you what one of the women on the other side of the room were wearing, would you be able to tell me the color, designer, cut, and fabric of the dress?"

Bruce looked away, staring across the room as he squinted his eyes. "No...I don't think I can…" he trailed off absently.

Looking back to Dent, he found the man staring at him blankly before he snorted. "Funny," he said drily.

"For what it's worth, I don't think Batman did it either," the billionaire commented, getting the DA's attention. "At least, I don't think it was the one you're thinking about."

Dent raised an eyebrow. "Meaning?"

"There's a new Batman running around and he's the one that killed Chuckie Sol."

For a moment, Dent looked thoughtful, even letting his eyes drop out of eye contact as he thought. Bruce watched this intently, waiting to see what the man's next words would be. Then, the corner of Dent's mouth twitched up. "No, I don't think that's it either."

"Why not?" Zatanna asked curiously, rejoining the conversation.

"We've had how many Batman copycats running around the last three years?" Dent replied rhetorically. "Too many to count and none of them were able to replicate the same results as the original. On top of that, if this was a new Batman, why would he start killing now? Why not when he first appeared when those Jokerz were going to tear down the Batman statue? Or what about the thwarted diamond heist a few nights ago? He had the opportunity to kill everyone involved, yet he saved it to go after one man in his own home? Doesn't fit his MO at all. So no, I think this is the same Batman as before. Why he left Gotham in the first place, I don't know, but he's back now."

Bruce had to hand it Dent, he was smart. He also seemed to be in Batman's corner for whatever that was worth. It at least warranted another meeting, though not as Bruce Wayne.

Right about then, a strange feeling welled up in the billionaire, causing him to frown slightly. The sensation was familiar, but he couldn't quite place it. Fortunately, Zatanna picked up the conversation and Dent looked to her, leaving him alone to figure out what exactly he was feeling. Glancing away, Bruce began to search for any external source for his ill ease. Eyes flickering from guest to guest. Eventually his eyes landed on a distinguishing older man, standing ramrod straight in a suit.

In that instant, Bruce felt the blood in his veins freeze as his eyes slowly widened. The posture, the white hair, the thin moustache-he recognized those the instant he saw them.

 _Alfred?_

The British man was standing to a side, an arm up as it held a silver serving dish with a few glasses of wine on them. Holding the tray to a couple party-goers, who each took a glass, the butler began to scan the crowd for others to serve when his eye moved to a side and settled on Bruce. For an instant, the entire world froze, the two men looking at each other, Bruce full on and Alfred from the corner of his eye. A sense of acknowledgement flowed between the two before Alfred turned away, revealing a large, bloody hole in the back of the older man's head.

" _Bruce?"_

The billionaire shook his head, blinking his eyes repeatedly. Heart pounding, Bruce looked right where he'd seen Alfred and saw no sign of the man. Instead he saw a waiter roaming around right where the butler had been standing, offering people glasses of wine.

Feeling someone nudging their elbow in his side, the dark-haired man turned to look at Zatanna, who stared back with worry. "You okay?" she asked him with concern.

"Yeah, yeah, sorry," he immediately apologized. "Just thought I saw an old friend is all."

"Sorry if we're boring you, Bruce," Dent offered then.

"Oh no, you weren't," Bruce assured the DA. "It's just been awhile since I've been in a room with so many people I recognize. I'm sure I'm gonna have to say hello to them sooner or later."

Dent accepted that excuse as he nodded. "I'm sure we'll be seeing each other at more of these shindigs. You better go say hi to those friends of yours."

"And don't think this is over," Bruce replied with a smirk. "I want to hear more about your Batman theory."

A small smile appeared on the man's face. "Sure thing, sure thing."

Then they parted ways, Bruce and Zatanna walking off as Dent went in a different direction. "What's wrong," the dark-haired woman stated the moment they were on their own.

"I'll tell you when we get out of here," he grunted back. "I don't know about you, but I've had enough of this party."

Zatanna nodded. "Alright, let's get-"

Unfortunately, she was interrupted when the loud voice of Lucius Fox bellowed out. "Bruce! I knew you'd come." A grimace covered the dark-haired man's face while an annoyed one appeared on his date's. As one, they put on friendly-looking smiles and turned to look at the older man. "You're just in time," Lucius was saying as he stopped next to them. "There's someone I'd like you to meet."

"Can this-" Bruce began but was just as quickly interrupted.

"Bruce, this is the CEO of Beaumont Accounting, the firm I told you about," Lucius spoke, sliding to a side as he held a hand up, gesturing towards a nearby woman.

The moment Bruce laid eyes on her, he felt the entire world stop for the second time that night. His shock played across his face as he dropped his arm from Zatanna's waist. A million and one thoughts flew through his mind as distant memories came rushing back. If Lucius said anything else, he was deaf to the man's words.

She hadn't changed in all the time they'd been apart. She still had that long auburn hair and those lovely blue eyes, ones that were penetrating him at the moment. She looked expectantly at him, slightly shifting the shawl she wore over her shoulders as she held a light pink gloved hand to him. "It's a pleasure to meet you," her rich voice greeted him.

 _Andrea._


	6. Nightmares From Hell

Nightmares from Hell

" _If Daddy was anymore protective, he'd build a moat around my bedroom!"_

" _Ms. Beaumont, fancy running into you here."_

" _So, what's this big plan of yours?"_

" _I...don't know. I just don't know!"_

" _We can make this work."_

Like a broken dam, Bruce was overwhelmed by the flood of memories he had once believed were dead and buried. Apparently he wasn't the only one that could be forcefully resurrected.

How long had it been? Six, seven years? Not a word spoken, sight seen, or even a rumor of how the other was doing. Right now, Bruce wished it had stayed that way, but with Andrea standing in front of him, hand raised expectantly, and a warm smile on her face, it took everything for the billionaire to simply raise an untrembling hand to accept the handshake.

"It's nice to see you, Andrea," he greeted with what he felt was an even tone. Feeling her grip his hand and return the shake, Bruce held steady until the redhead released her grasp.

Her expression didn't wane for a moment as she replied, "It's an honor to be doing business with you. On behalf of Beaumont Accounting, I wish to extend our deepest gratitude for agreeing to meet about our proposal."

Bruce's eye twitched. What was this? Although her face was warm, there was a distance about it he wasn't used to seeing. It was as if Andrea was acting like they had no history. The very thought irritated him. "I seem to recall your firm, Ms. Beaumont. Wasn't it run by your father?"

Andrea nodded, her hair brushing against her shoulders. "It was. He's stepped down since and-"

"You assumed the throne," he interjected.

The smile didn't diminish the slightest from the interruption. "So to speak."

Apparently, Lucius noticed the negative undercurrents coming from Bruce, so he stepped in to attempt damage control, perceived or otherwise. "Beaumont Accounting is a rising star, Bruce. They're handling quite a few accounts, namely a couple of our bigger competitors. They have a proposal we should consider."

"Oh, I have no doubt about that." Right then, a server came walking by, carrying a tray with glasses of champagne. Deftly, Bruce snagged a couple, holding one out to Zatanna, who had been unusually quiet throughout this. Feeling the dark-haired woman take the drink, Bruce dropped that hand so he could wrap his arm around her waist, placing his hand on her hip. Holding his champagne glass with his other hand, he then took a sip, noting the rather overly sweet taste to it. It clashed with the aftertaste, so it must've been a cheap bottle. "Though I do recall it had been doing very well for itself a number of years ago before abruptly leaving Gotham. I hope you don't mind if I ask you what happened."

Finally, he struck a nerve, Andrea's expression faltering for a split-second. Lucius seemed interested in the question too, which explained why he didn't automatically reprimand the dark-haired man. Instead he looked to the young woman questioningly.

"We...hit a rough patch," Andrea said warily. "All businesses do-we just had more than our fair share."

"That being?" Bruce pressed.

"That is an internal matter, so I apologize if I cannot go into any more detail."

Bruce would've snorted at the answer, but he held himself back-for now. "We all have our little secrets," he remarked before taking another sip of champagne, then quickly deciding he had enough-of the drink and the redhead. "I'm sure we'll be seeing quite a bit of each other in the near future."

Andrea nodded. "I believe we will."

Turning away, Bruce began to lead Zatanna away. "Just don't leave us hanging," he called back other over his shoulder. "I'd hate to see what that would do to your portfolio."

If there was a response to that, he didn't hear or see it, and he was content with that. Impressively, Zatanna managed to hold her tongue until they had put some distance between Lucius and Andrea and them. "What was that about?" she asked lowly, a hint of incredulousness in her voice.

"Not the time for it," Bruce muttered back, though in his eyes there would never be a time for it.

That wasn't good enough for the magician. "Bruce, you were really being a dick at the end. To a potential business client. I know your public image isn't all that great, but even you could at least pretend to tolerate people that you didn't like. What gives?"

Perhaps it was the mood he was in. Perhaps subconsciously he agreed with Zatanna. Regardless, he gave into her digging. "Andrea and I are acquainted, despite the cool facade you saw."

There was a brief moment of silence before, "How well acquainted?"

"Well, it ended badly, to put it mildly."

"So you were a couple...and broke up?"

"...yes."

Bruce could sense some apprehension in Zatanna. Her body had slowly stiffen against his arm, through self-consciousness or jealousy, he didn't know. "Is that how you treat all your exs?" she suddenly asked.

"Just her," he grunted. He then tightened his arm around the dark-haired woman, pulling her closer to him. "I don't know about you, but I'm tired of this gala. I could use some fresh air."

"And something to hit?" Zatanna responded dryly.

"Well, if you want to put it that way."

As they were passing a small group of people, one of them suddenly spoke, "Oh my, there seems to be trouble downtown."

The dark-haired couple slowed at the mention, their heads tilting towards the group. Bruce was quick to note one of the men had their smartphone out and was looking at the screen intently. "My daughter just texted me. Apparently some of those Joker hoodlums are rioting."

"Lowlifes," another person agreed in disgust. "I swear, the police really need to do something about them. Or one of those vigilantes. This is really getting absurd."

"Well, I think we found you someone to hit," Zatanna commented.

* * *

This was not good for his health. The moment he had opened his morning newspaper and had seen front page, Valestra was clawing for his oxygen tank.

He hadn't been in the best of moods to begin with. Of course he had known about what had happened at the pier. There were going to be words between him and Chuckie about it. Now those words would never be said. It was hard to say them when the other person they were meant for was dead.

Not only had Chuckie managed to mess up an important arms deal, he had been murdered by a lunatic in a cape.

This was not good. He was too old to deal with this!

But deal with this, he would have to. He brought in Buzz as soon as possible, though the man had taken his sweet time getting here. This was not the time to tiptoe around the issue.

"Heh. He always was a loser," Buzz had said once Valestra had informed him.

"Now is not the time, Buzz," Valestra reprimanded. "One of our own is dead. We need to retaliate before anyone sees this as a sign of weakness."

"You want me to take down the Batman wannabe?" Buzz suggested.

"In a manner of speaking...I do," Valestra confirmed. "We need to do what Falcone and Maroni were never able to do. This Batman, or whoever he's trying to pretend to be, needs to retire before he can come after us again. Preferably to a place that is six feet underground if you understand me."

"I understand," Buzz answered. It might have been Valestra's imagination, but Buzz looked very pleased at such a task.

"Might I add one last thing," Valestra stated, even though his words came out as a request. "The man who is able to eliminate the Batman impersonator that's running around would have quite a reputation. In fact, I might be willing to turn things over to the man who accomplishes such a feat."

Buzz paused, giving Valestra a pointed look. Slowly, a smirk creased his face. "Has anyone ever told you you know how to sweet talk someone, Sal?"

"You're the only one bold enough to say it to my face," Valestra replied, pleased that his meaning had been understood.

"I'll be showing you some boldness soon enough," Buzz quipped. "I'll do what should have been done long ago."

"I don't care about your words, only that you do what you say," Valestra stated, not having the tolerance for bravado. There were probably countless punks who had said the same thing, but how many had actually done what they said? Since those vigilantes were still around, sticking their noses where they shouldn't be, the answer would have to be none. "If I have to, I'll contact some guys who do know what they're doing."

Buzz frowned. "What guys?"

"Guys who were integral to the rise of this organization," Valestra replied. "That's all you need to know right now. The only thing _you_ should be concerned about is bringing me this so-called Batman's head on a platter."

Buzz gave him a look, but nodded in understanding. Good man. Years of experience must be telling him not to press further with him. Valestra kept his eyes on him anyway, watching as Buzz took his leave.

Once he was alone, no one else around to see him, he sagged into his seat and sighed. He was too old for this. Why was it happening now? And to him?

This was not going to be good for his health. You know what else wasn't going to be good for his health? Getting help from people you shouldn't be getting help from. Okay, sure, they were helpful for getting him where he was now, but he felt like he was selling his soul in exchange.

If Buzz didn't come through on his end, then Valestra was going to have to go to this last resort. That was if this Batman wannabe didn't decide to skip ahead and crucify him first. This needed to be taken care of before it could get worse.

* * *

The roar of the motorcycle filled Huntress' ears. The buildings to either side of her blurred as she weaved between cars. A little further back and following her was Black Canary on her own motorcycle, Katana sitting behind the blonde with her arms wrapped around BC.

It had been Breaking News not too long ago. Jokerz were rioting in the Industrial area, making a general spectacle of themselves. Considering the heavy blows they had been suffering lately, between losing the Joker as their leader and losing countless members during the chaos that had ensued, it was no wonder they wanted to make sure everyone remembered they were a force to be reckoned with.

Unfortunately, the time spent getting dressed and collecting their equipment between the three women had allowed who knows how much property damage and unnecessary violence to play out. Huntress was going to let quite a few of these makeup obsessed idiots know just how fed up she was with them.

Assuming that the other vigilante group hadn't dispersed them, that is.

Taking a sharp right, Huntress and Black Canary turned onto a street that was a straight shot to the Industrial area. As their bikes roared, they could see rising smoke clouds from somewhere there. Just great, some idiot had begun setting things on fire. As if Gotham hadn't had enough of those lately.

"Okay, girls, we hit them hard and fast," Huntress shouted into her mike. "Hurt enough of them and the rest should scatter to the winds."

" _That's always your plan,"_ Black Canary complained back.

"It works, doesn't it?"

" _Huntress makes a valid point,"_ Katana agreed. _"Physical violence does scare off our opponents."_

"Thanks, Katana," Huntress replied. "Remind me to send you a Christmas card."

" _You're only saying that because Katana agrees with you,"_ Black Canary groused.

"Fine then, BC. You come up with the plan," the purple-clad vigilante challenged.

There was a moment of silence before _"We...go in...and...hit them hard...and fast…"_

"What do you know, I like that plan. Don't you Katana?"

" _I approve of this plan."_

" _Shut up, the both of ya,"_ the blonde woman grumbled. _"We're almost there, so look sharp."_

Huntress just smirked-after all, Canary was right, they were reaching the riot. Ahead of them was a street full of men and women dressed like insane clowns. The very sight made the dark-haired woman snarl. There were some people in this world that needed to be put in jail, have their butts whooped, or just drowned to save the rest of the human race from their stupidity. Anyone that thought emulating the Joker of all people deserved that last option.

Revving her engine louder, Huntress raced head first at the crowd, many of which hesitated as they saw her fast approach. As so happened, there was a noticeable bump in the middle of the road, made from normal wear and tear of cars and trucks driving on the asphalt. At this moment, it made for a makeshift ramp, which she chose to make use of. Pulling back on the handlebars of her motorcycle, the front wheel lifted off the pavement, the roar of her engine growing louder as poured on more speed. The moment her back tire hit the bump, she was launched into the air, flying over heads of the ducking crowd.

In midair Huntress began turning her bike until it was perpendicular to the buildings lining the street. As gravity began forcing her down, she and her ride landed on the ground roughly, their momentum causing the motorcycle to skid down the road with a shrill squeal. Men and women dove out of the way until she ran right into two unlucky guys. Moving her leg from the colliding side, Huntress' bike rammed right into the clown thugs and slammed them up against the side of a parked car, denting the vehicle's side.

At the moment of impact, Huntress leapt off the bike, turning feet over head as she flipped. At the same time, a gloved hand went to her back and pulled out her contracted bo staff, flicking the switch to extend both ends.

For a second, the dark-haired woman found herself hovering upside down in midair, giving her the odd sight of seeing a crowd of punks upside down. But that was all it lasted for as her world began to right itself as she continued flipping. She was practically on top of a Joker thug once she was rightside up, causing her to lash out with one of her legs, her foot colliding with the man's face.

First blood was hers.

An instant later, Huntress was landing on the ground, just as her first victim crashed onto the pavement. Immediately the purple-clad woman began twirling her bo staff, a shrill sound being made as wind was forcibly made by the spinning shaft before she shot one end out, bashing it into another Jokerz' face.

Sweeping the staff out, the vigilante crouched down as she spun in a circle, knocking out the legs of several nearby Jokerz, causing them all to cry out as they fell to the ground. Quickly, Huntress shot out to the nearest one, shooting out her leg to kick them in the face and knock them out cold. She would've gone for a second one had she not caught sight of a large, burly Joker punk rushing at her, whirling a chain high above his head.

Holding her ground, Huntress waited for her new opponent to attack, which he did, swinging the chain at her. Raising her bo staff, she used it to block the blow, seeing the chain wrap around it several times in response. Quickly, she grabbed the chain and yanked it towards her, causing the Joker thug to come stumbling towards her. Immediately, she dashed forward, shifting her bo staff to one hand as she raised her other arm up, bending it at the elbow.

With a crash, the two foes collided, Huntress ramming her elbow into the bigger Jokerz' face. She could hear the satisfying crunch of cartilage breaking, informing the woman that she had broken the man's nose. With a feral grin, the purple vigilante stepped back, only so she could swing and extend her bent arm out, backhanding the bleeding Joker in the face, snapping his head to a side and sending him crashing to the ground.

"Get her!"

Snapping her head to look behind her, Huntress saw three men and a woman rushing towards her, each coming to a stop several feet away and armed with handguns or automatic rifles. They were too far for her to make life difficult for them, so that just left her with-

That thought was stopped when she saw a flash of light and the sudden appearance of Katana crouched down in front of the four Jokerz. Held out to her side was the sword, the light from the street lamps gleaming off its sharp surface. Barely a moment passed before the barrel of each gun, along with a healthy portion of the weapons' bodies slide and fell to the ground. Each Joker looked dumbly at the sight of their ruined guns, blinking their eyes owlishly.

Then, Katana leapt off the ground spinning in midair as she lashed out with a leg. Her kick landed on the side of the face of the Joker to the farthest right. He immediately went flying to the left, crashing into his buddy, who then fell into the woman Joker, who then fell onto the last Joker. It was like watching a set of dominos falling onto each other.

Heh, Huntress knew there was a reason she wanted Katana on this team.

Knowing Katana could handle herself, Huntress began to turn when two arms shot on either side of her, closing in and wrapping around her. Due to her arms being jerked downward and against her body, the purple-clad woman dropped her staff, the weapon clattering on the ground.

That didn't bother Huntress the least Feeling hot breath against her ear, the dark-haired woman leaned her body and head forward. Then she shot her head backwards, the back of her skull colliding with someone's face. Huntress winced from the jolt of pain she felt, but she could deal with that as she felt the thug's arms loosen around her. Forcing them off her by jerking her own arms out, the vigilante then grabbed one of the man's arms, turning around to face him as she did so. With her leg, she kicked out the Joker punk's leg at the knee, the man falling to a side and ultimately spinning around until he landed on his backside on the ground.

However, she wasn't done with this bozo. Still holding onto his arm, the purple-clad woman held it as high as she could and then rammed her knee against the elbow joint. The arm bent at an abnormal angle as a sharp _crack!_ was made. The thug shrieked with pain as he shot a hand out to grip his injured arm.

Dropping her raised leg down, Huntress let go of the arm before she kicked out with her other leg to knock the hurt man out. With that done, she was ready to go to the next punk when a flash of black and yellow caught her eye. Turning her head to look she caught sight of BC engaging with three Jokerz. She was a flurry of fists and kicks, hitting each man in a choreographed manner. A sharp elbow to the solar plexus left one man breathless, followed by a punch by the same arm left another dazed from the blow. Jumping and spinning, Black Canary delivered a vicious roundhouse kick to the third Joker, which knocked him into next week. That was quickly followed up by subsequent blows to the two stunned Jokerz, which ended their short forays in consciousness.

Say what you wanted about Blondie, she knew how to fight. Perhaps she was a little too cautious for Huntress' tastes, but BC was definitely someone she preferred on her side than against her. Between the three of them,they would have this riot quelled in no time.

So naturally that was when things took a strange turn.

It came out of nowhere, so she never saw it coming. One moment she was looking for her next opponent, the next an explosion of...of...well, air blasted from the street. Jokerz were sent flying high into the air as an invisible force shoved others over or down onto the street. For Huntress, the blast sent her crashing into a parked car right behind her. Collapsing onto the ground, she hissed as she felt the first signs of a migraine forming.

And then the unfortunate souls that had been thrown up into the air came crashing down. It was literally raining people for five seconds and when they landed, they didn't get back up. Seriously, what the hell happened? What had caused that invisible blast right out of nowhere? Even for Gotham, this was strange.

"What the hell is going on?" she spat out, wincing as she did so. Damn, this migraine was not going to be pleasant.

She got her answer a second later. Descending from the sky, a black mass came flying in, landing right on top of a stunned Joker thug who had been standing up dumbly taking in the carnage of the scene. The mass hit the man right on the shoulders, and caused him to crumple down to the ground, a surprise cry ringing out into the night.

Huntress found herself staring at the sight. She really wasn't able to make out much, which was unusually for her. She was normally sharp, yet she was having trouble focusing. Something was wrong with her. Yet, as she stared at the black thing, she was able to figure out a head.

A head with two horns sticking up into the air.

Suddenly, the black thing spun around, what looked like a cloak or cape flying off of it as two arms blurred out in front of it. Two spinning projectiles went flying through the air, Huntress following it as she turned her head. The projectiles slammed into two Jokerz' faces, knocking them out.

Despite the daze she felt, Huntress had alarms going off in her head. She knew that move, intimately too. With the ease that it had been used, the purple-clad woman felt a shiver run up and down her spine, as if someone walking over her grave. There...there was no way that was who she thought that was. He was dead, buried, and sorely missed. He was not...he was not…

Batman.

* * *

The concussion detonator had done its job, releasing a concussive blast in the middle of the riot. Jokerz members had been scattered from the force, many of whom were sent flying into the air.

Standing in the street, Batman stared down the remaining rioters. There were many that looked as if they were unsure of what to do, be it fight or run away.

He needed to encourage that second option.

Launching himself towards the crowd, the vigilante closed the distance between him and the crowd in a matter of seconds. At the last moment, he leapt into the air, arm raised and hand balled into a fist. With a warcry, he came flying down at the nearest thug, ramming his fist into the man's face. The moment he landed, he pivoted to his right and lashed out with another punch, decking the next man, quickly followed by another as a vicious uppercut sent the rioter flying off his feet and into the air.

That had a mixed reaction. While some of the crowd chose wisely to turn tail and run, there were still plenty that decided to charge. Backing off a couple steps, the vigilante eyed the closest Joker, the man holding a 2x4 high into the air with nails sticking out of it. With a cry, the Joker swung his crude weapon.

In response, Batman ducked backwards and to his left, the 2x4 sailing by harmlessly. Instantly, the dark-clad man closed the distance between him and his foe, one hand grabbing the Joker goon by his forearm, the other at the shirt collar. Heaving the man up, Batman grunted as he twisted his body around and pitched the goon forward, throwing him through the air. The Joker screamed as he sailed through the air until he rashed face first with a wall, dropping to the ground in a heap.

Even though he had his back to the charging Jokerz, that didn't mean Batman was defenseless. Lifting a leg up, he sent a well-time back kick backwards, his foot embedding itself into a thug's abdomen. Bending his other leg, Batman then sprang up, spinning as he did so and lashed out with the same leg, landing a roundhouse kick to the thug's face and sending him crashing to the ground.

The moment he landed, the Dark Knight prepared for his next approaching foe. However, at that moment he felt a wave of nausea hit him. It had seemingly come out of nowhere, this sick feeling welling up in his stomach. He had to fight down the urge to vomit. For a second, his eyes went unfocused, causing the dark-clad man to shake his head to clear up his vision. Now was not the time to be feeling sick.

Unfortunately, a Joker thug was damn near on top of him, swinging a baseball bat at his head. Ducking the swing, Batman shot his arms up and caught the backswing, blocking the rioter's forearms with his own. Looking to the man's face, he was taken back when instead of seeing a painted face, he saw a pale white face with cat-like eyes glaring at him. Unnaturally long teeth jutted out of the thing's face, hot breath pouring out as it growled.

It wasn't often the Batman was caught off-guard. It had been known to happen from time to time, but it truly was a rare occurrance. Yet, when they did happen, he had come across a rather effective coping mechanism.

He punched the creature.

Hard.

Right in its frightening mouthful of teeth.

The creature went flying off of its feet, letting out hoarse cry until it crashed right into one of the other Jokerz. That caused the other Jokerz to stop in their tracks and stare at the monster and their fallen comrade.

However, when they looked back, they were no longer men. Instead, monsters of various grotesqueness stared back at the Dark Knight, a low hissing sound coming from them. From deformed faces, exaggerated features such as large hooked noses, sharp teeth, needle-like hair, claw-like fingers, and the like, the only thing that made them look remotely human was the fact they were humanoid shaped. These creatures clearly thought themselves frightening, if not dangerous.

Batman would prove them wrong.

Diving head first, Batman charged at them, a flurry of punches and kicks. Despite their frightening appearance, they fell before him as his knuckles knocked out teeth, booted feet kicked out joints, and were quickly followed by devastating punches. The vigilante lost track of the number of creatures he fell, but he knew they wouldn't be so aggressive ever again.

Suddenly, he stilled his fist. The monsters before him-the ones still standing anyways-turned and fled. Yet, they weren't the ones he was concerned with. There was a presence behind him. Slowly, he turned around and saw a completely different creature.

Unlike the grotesque clown-like monsters, this one looked different. It was purple in appearance, with horns jutting out of its skull. It held a crude-looking staff in one clawed hand, it's other raised between them, held out towards him. "Glatban?" it's rough voice said.

There was something about this purple monster the Dark Knight didn't like. He didn't know why, but he got the feeling it was just like the other creatures; it wanted to hurt him. Like hell he would let it.

Falling into a defensive stance, Batman began to circle the beast to his right. The creature didn't look fazed by this, simply following his movements. However, the vigilante wasn't mistaken when he notice the monster shift its stance, taking a defensive one as well.

No, not defensive-offensive.

Due to his circling, this allowed his back hand to disappear from the purple creature's sight. Dropping it to his belt, he retrieved his bat-shaped shuriken. Once he was ready, he sent it flying at the creature, giving chase an instant later.

In response, the monster raised its staff, tilting it at an angle and bouncing the shuriken off of it and away. Jumping into the air, he sailed towards the creature, swinging his leg up and kicking the staff to a side. The moment he touched down on the ground, he turned to his side and shot forward, raising a bent arm up and ramming his elbow into the creature's face. This sent the creature stumbling backwards as it cried out, "Vhat dar blu greing?"

Not bothering to reply, Batman dashed forth, swinging his other fist through the air. This time, however, the creature was able to use its staff, bringing it up vertically and blocking the blow. It then brought the weapon down, slamming its end onto the vigilante's shoulders, causing pain to shoot up his arm.

With a grunt, Batman backed off, stumbling a step from the blow. Yet, the purple creature wasn't done as it sent the end of the staff jabbing at his face. Jerking his head to a side, he dodged the strike, only able to watch as the monster drew back the staff before jabbing again and again. Each time the dark-clad man dodged to a side, usually moving his head, yet occasionally twisting his body to a side. In his head, he recognized there was some sort of skill in the monster's use of the weapon, but he wasn't sure what that meant.

However, he was getting a hang of its pattern. As the monster pulled back another missed jab, it then twirled the staff in a circle before raising it high above its head, swinging it downward at the vigilante's head.

Immediately, Batman shot his hands up, catching the staff. Pulling it to a side, he then moved into the monster's space, turning his body as he did so. Swinging a leg, he kicked out the creature's knee, causing it to cry out as it stumbled forward. Spinning his body around, the dark-clad man raised an arm up at shoulder height, bent at the elbow. Letting out a war cry, he slammed his elbow into the back of the monster's head, an uncomfortable jolt shooting down his arm from the blow. Must've hit the nerve.

That didn't stop him from continuing his pivoting, once more swinging his leg up, only this time he landed a roundhouse kick to the purple creature's head. The strike sent it careening through the air until it hit the ground, skidding across it until it came to a stop. Keeping his guard up, Batman stared it down until he was sure it wasn't going to be getting back up.

Suddenly, he heard a voice, pleasant and familiar, yet it was distracting. _"Batman, what are you doing?"_

For a moment the world around him seemed to fade before it readjusted. Shaking his head, Batman pushed away the swimming feeling he felt. Something was wrong, he could feel it. But-

He caught the glint of light first, his only warning. Shooting an arm up, he was just in time to feel a strong blow land against his forearm, a sleek, sharp sword nestled between his triangle blades. Eyes glancing away from the blade, Batman saw a new monster, this one red with a head of yellow flames.

So the purple monster had a friend.

Unlike the previous monster, this one had a more lithe frame and it proved just how agile it was when it backed off, pulling its finely crafted sword back with it. Strange, where would a monster get a hold of such a weapon?

Any further thought was shelved the moment the red creature launched its next attack, a diagonal slash to his left. Shooting his arm up, he blocked the strike high, backing off a step as the monster pressed its attack, pulling the sword black and arcing it through the air to strike at his midsection from his right. A low block stopped the attack and pushed it away. Again and again, the monster struck at him, its blade slicing through air only for the Dark Knight to use his triangle blades to catch it repel the blow. High, high, low, left slash, thrust, high to the head, right slash, all were stopped and forced away.

For the second time that night, Batman got the feeling there was some serious skill involved in this monster's attack.

And then the red creature with is flaming head made its first mistake. As it went in for another slash, it stepped too far in. The moment he blocked the blow, Batman immediately stepped forward, the blade scraping against his metal gauntlet with a shrill _screech!_ With his other hand, he drove his fist low and into its ribs, causing the creature to take a step back with a grunt.

Pulling back his fist, he then arced it up into the air before dropping it down, the bottom of his fist colliding with the red monster's hand. This resulted in the monster dropping its weapon with a pained cry, one that Batman silenced by swinging a backhand blow at it, the back of his balled hand ramming into its face and snappings its head to a side.

However, if the vigilante thought that hit was enough to daze the monster he was sorely mistaken. It recovered quickly, using the sudden momentum it had gained from the dark-clad man's previous blow to its advantage. Spinning its body in place, it then lashed out with is own leg, the heel of its foot slamming into Batman's jaw, his head being the one to jerk to a side this time.

Forcing his head back to his opponent, he bared his teeth as he swung a haymaker at the creature's face. Surprisingly, it shot both of its arms up, using one to block his wild punch, the other bracing the arm that made contact. A moment and the bracing arm then snaked up, its hand grabbing onto Batman's wrist.

Immediately, Batman recognized the hold the monster was trying to do. In that instant, the vigilante pressed forward, forcing his forearm up against the red creature. With his other hand, he sent it down and grabbed a hold of the monster's leg, pulling it up until his foe stood on only one foot. Due to his sudden rush and the creature being on only one foot, it's balance was thrown off, causing it to lean backwards and ultimately falling to the ground.

Pitching himself forward, the vigilante fell after the monster, the two crashing onto the ground with the creature landing on its back and the Batman on top of it. Because of his arm's placement against the monster's neck, the moment they hit the pavement his forearm rammed into the creature's trachea, causing it to gasp from its crushed windpipe.

Once more, Batman wasn't able to revel in his victory. Before he could even get off of the choking monster, something rammed into the side of his head, sending him flying off the creature until he landed on the ground in a heap. Growling, Batman forced himself onto his feet, looking up to see yet another creature. This one was completely black, a curtain of yellow spikes descending down from the back of its head. Just how many of these things were there?

"Grats ecough!" it barked at him, holding its clawed hands up between them.

Glaring down this new beast, the vigilante allowed his cape to envelop him, blocking his body from sight. Taking a step to his right, he began to circle the black creature, his movements causing his cape to shift and ruffle against his body, disguising his hands reaching to his belt and pulling out a smoke pellet with one and a shuriken with the other.

"Ve gront daght to do bless," the monster grunted at him then, reaching the edge of the nearby sidewalk. If Batman wasn't mistaken, the monster's stance, though defensive, seemed to pour out reluctance in waves. How strange. However, it did provide him a chance to strike and he took advantage of it. Tossing his cape off of him, he threw his bat-shaped shuriken, watching it spin as it raced through the air.

As expected, the black creature dodged to a side, its attention on the projectile long enough to make sure it wouldn't harm it. That was distraction enough for him to send the smoke pellet flying towards her, the small marble landing on the ground just in front of its feet and erupting into a large cloud of smoke.

Immediately, Batman shot a hand to the back of his belt and pulled out his grapple gun, aiming it at an overhanging street lamp and fired it. The grapple claw exploded out of the gun, flying through the air until it made contact with the pole with an audible _clang!_ Hitting the retraction button, the cable went tant and Batman was pulled off ground, shooting through the air towards the pole. He didn't make the journey to the light though, letting go of the grapple and allowing momentum to force him higher and higher. When gravity finally got a hold of him, he was right above the smoke cloud, hovering for a split second before he began falling back to earth.

And just as he expected, the black creature was backing out of the smoke cloud, coughing harshly to clear its lungs. It had yet to detect his skyward approach and it would be feeling just how much of a mistake it was making. Raising both of his fists above his head, the vigilante held them there for a moment, waiting for the time to strike.

 _Now!_ Swinging both fists down, the dark-clad man aimed to slam them on top of the black creature's head. However, it seemed he had underestimated the monster as it suddenly leapt backwards, leaving Batman to hit nothing by empty air, his feet landing on the ground as he completed his swing.

Keeping his eyes on the monster, he saw it leaning backwards as it swing its feet up into the air, performing a backflip. As it sprang off the ground with it hands, it flew feet first into the building behind it, and then used the brickwall as a springboard, the black creature launching itself at the Batman. With large fist drawn back, the monster threw the punch with a roar.

In response, Batman darted backwards, buying himself a second to get an arm up to block the blow. The monster pressed its offensive though, throwing punch after punch at the vigilante, taking a step forward for every one the Dark Knight took back. He could only block the fists, sending his forearms high and low.

And then the creature pivoted on one foot and lashed it with its other, slamming a kick into Batman's chest. Gasping as air was forced from his lungs, Batman was stunned for a second, stumbled backwards from the hit with one hand pressed against his upper torso.

However, he was quick to recover and just in time to see the black creature bring its extended leg down and pivoting with the foot. The monster spun around, lashing out with its other leg in a roundhouse kick. This time, though, Batman was quick to counter, dropping to the ground as the kick sailed harmlessly over his head. With his own leg, he shot it out, kicking out the creature's ground-bound leg and causing it to crash to the pavement with a surprised cry.

At least, that's what he expected to happen. Instead, the black creature shot its hands out, one touching down on the asphalt, the monster holding itself up as it swung its legs up into the air. At the same time, it brought its other hand down to land on the ground just as the other hand lifted off, the creature performing a cartwheel as it landed back on its feet.

With a scowl, Batman forced himself to stand, raising his hands up as he got back into his stance. Once more, the black creature charged at him, throwing a haymaker at his head. Unlike their previous clash though, the vigilante leaned to his left, shooting his right arm up to block the blow. The moment they made contact, he then threw his left fist at the monster's face, only to see it lean its head back and shoot its other hand up to catch his punch.

Though unexpected, the dark-clad man was quick to counter again, once more kicking out his leg to knock out the creature's knee out. Again, the creature cried out as its balance was thrown off, leaning back too far as it tried to steady itself and instead fell hard on its back on the ground.

Instantly, the vigilante was pressing his advantage, bending his other leg at the knee and driving it down, allowing gravity to assist him as he drove his knee right into the monster's gut. A choked gasp tore out of the creature's mouth as it was left breathless from the blow. Raising a fist up, the vigilante made to slam it right on the black creature's face when a whistling sound caught his attention.

Instead of throwing the punch, Batman instead snapped it out, briefly relaxing his fingers before tightening them up. That allowed him to catch an arrow in midair, stopping it from piercing the side of his head. Turning his attention away from his stunned foe, he looked beyond the arrow he held and caught sight of the purple monster standing once more, holding up an arm with two spikes extending out on either side of its forearm. It gave the creature's arm a crossbow look.

Batman couldn't help but growl through. With a glance to the red creature, he saw it too was getting back onto his feet-not something he was pleased about. Soon he'd have all three of these monsters attacking him and each one was formidable on its own.

Not good.

As it turned out, he would never get a chance to see if he could overcome such odds. One moment he was staring down two monster, the next a bright white light exploded out of the street, the blast throwing Batman off the black creature and through the air. He landed roughly on the ground several feet away stunned. Vision swimming, Batman laid there, trying to fight back the daze he was in. He didn't know what fresh hell had arrived, but he was not in the mood for it.

Grimacing, the vigilante tilted his head up and caught sight of a bright white glow. There was no sight of the monsters that he could see, not that he was really looking for them. The glow drew his attention solely onto it, as if he were an insect captivated by a bug zapper.

And then something emerged from it. It took him a moment to recognize that it was a person, a woman at that. She had long black hair and seemed to glow with that ethereal light. The pure white gown she wore flowed off of her as she slowly approached the Dark Knight, her growing beauty overwhelming the man.

So this was what an angel looked like.

"Shhhhh," she said as she came to a stop in front of him, kneeling down towards him. Batman let her get close, even to the point when she reached a hand out and cupped it against his cheek. Her hand was cool to his surprisingly feverish head, calming him as he closed his eyes, drinking in the sensation. When he opened his eyes again, the glow was dimming, the angel transforming before his eyes. It hit him a moment later as Zatanna stood before him, giving him a reassuring look.

"It's okay, Batman," she cooed at him, reaching with her other hand, to touch his shoulder. "I'm taking you home."

Numbly, Batman nodded. "Nruter ot evac," Zatanna chanted and his vision was soon filled with rose-colored smoke. For some reason he felt there was something else he should be doing, but for the life of him he couldn't remember. Couldn't focus.

Couldn't care.


	7. Different Sets of Eyes

Different Sets of Eyes

It wasn't often that a police commissioner could be found at the scene of a riot. Riots happened every once in a while. Naturally, those involved seemingly normal people. When Jokerz were involved, that was a completely different story.

According to what he had been told, last night was not one for the record books. The Gotham City Police Department had had nights with higher numbers of arrests before. Nonetheless, this wasn't something to sneeze at.

In fact, it had attracted a bit of attention.

By attention, Gordon meant Harvey Dent.

So, to add on to that earlier thought, it also wasn't often that a district attorney could be found at the scene of a riot.

"Seventy-four arrests in one night. How big of a dent do you think that makes in the Jokerz ranks?" Probably a rhetorical question there, but Gordon was more than willing to answer.

"Not much, in the long run," Gordon answered as he gazed upon the remains of last night's events, the District Attorney at his side. "It's never been hard for them to find new recruits. They aren't as picky as the mob and have lower standards than the other street gangs."

"Has anyone ever mentioned that you were a pessimist?" Dent asked, staring straight ahead and not giving a glance towards him..

"I used to be an optimist," Gordon remarked.

"What changed that?" There was the glance.

"Nothing worth mentioning." He continued to looked straight ahead resolutely, his body language probably screaming at Dent to not go any further with this line of questioning.

Perhaps he had been, because Dent didn't press forward. Instead, he said, "I've been hearing about some masked figures from last night. Any truth with that?"

Gordon almost groaned. From one bad topic to another. "One thing about Gotham is that it has a high rate of vigilantism in recent times. I would be careful about it if I were you."

"Why careful?"

"You never know where it'll burn you. Or freeze you. Gotham has a habit of going to both extremes."

"Not so subtle reminder of the Night of Ice, but I get it," Dent replied. "You can't tell me that you aren't in the least bit interested. From what the grapevine is saying, we have some women out there playing dress up too."

"And I'm putting the department on alert to apprehend them if we can catch them." Gordon could appreciate some of Dent's zeal in law and order, but it was becoming more and more clear that the man also had a fascination with Gotham's unique brand of vigilantes.

Dent chuckled, but not of the light-hearted kind. "That's interesting to hear, coming from you."

"However do you mean?"

"From what I've heard, you used to be more tolerant. Any reason for the change of heart?"

"One thing I've learned about vigilantes is that they promise you everything you want, then fail to keep it. It's not the kind of association that pays off. It's better to not get involved."

"Burned?" Dent guessed.

"I'd really like to talk about something else," Gordon stated. "Like what the district attorney will do about all these arrests?"

"I suggest keeping them in as long as you're able. Most of these guys are going to plea bargain. A few are going to try to go to trial, won't be able to afford to unless they're using the public defenders' office. Some might try to avoid prison time to go to that new place outside of town," Dent listed off, accepting the request.

"New place?" Gordon asked, finally turning his head to look at the DA. Only a second later did it occur to him what that meant.

"It's not exactly new, but you remember that Crane case and the heist at Phizer, right?" Dent pressed on, unaware of the commissioner's realization.

Gordon nodded, knowing that he had put himself into this and waiting for Dent to continue. He could admit that now that the name Crane had caught his interest.

"Well, somehow he got a good lawyer who managed to get him transferred to...what's that place called again?" Dent lowered his head, almost glaring at the street as he struggled to remember the name. Gordon waited patiently. "It begins with an A. I'm thinking Ark."

Gordon didn't know any place in Gotham that was called "Ark." In particular, he didn't know of any place called "Ark" that dealt with criminals. However, there was that place just outside of Gotham…

"Is it Arkham?" Gordon guessed.

"That's it," Dent confirmed, snapping his fingers. "That's where he's staying. Arkham Asylum. You can bet both your badge and your ass that he's going to try and go for the insanity defense. Who knows, he might get away with it."

"Because who tries to rob a place like Phizer in the getup he was wearing, I get it." This was certainly different. Usually, it was police brutality that was used. But insanity, that was different. "He might want to change his mind about that."

"Why? Oh." No need to remind Dent of who also called Arkham home. "The Joker."

"Personally, I think that maniac should be death row for what he did to this city. Not wasting his time in therapy. No amount will ever cure that man."

"I'm one hundred percent behind that, Jim," Dent agreed. "Who would have thought that bastard had a dream team of lawyers in his pocket?"

And wasn't that the truth. After Gordon had done his damnedest to see that homicidal maniac locked up in Blackgate, the Joker came out of nowhere with an insanity plea and legal defense team that made O.J. Simpson's look like the JV team. It was a slap in the face of every police officer and citizen of Gotham when the judge agreed with the defense and had Joker sent to this Arkham facility.

Gordon frowned slightly, something Dent had just said catching his attention. "Jim?" he asked.

"We're going to be working together, Jim," Dent stated. "If I have it my way, it'll be a for a long time. Until we clean up this city at the very least, and not a day sooner. Since you're going to be seeing a lot of me in the days to come, I'd prefer it if you start calling me Harvey. I'm going to be the brother you never had."

That was...oddly reassuring, but Gordon wasn't going to be holding his breath. He had been promised that once before and had been disappointed.

Dent was going to have to prove himself first, before Gordon would ever start calling him Harvey.

* * *

It was called the Birdcage. Originally it had been a auto mechanic garage that had been shut down a long time ago. Rumor was the owner fled town due to bad debts with the wrong sort of people. Anyone who tried using it immediately became the next target for mobsters looking for a quick score.

So once the original mob families had been purged from Gotham, it left the dilapidated building ownerless and empty. While the outside looked the part of a derelict, the inside was anything but. The outer surface just encouraged people to ignore it was all.

Inside the building was the headquarters of the triplet crime fighting team, the Birds of Prey. At least, that's the name they were being called and Huntress had to admit that it was catchy despite only one member being named after a bird of any kind. Couple that with the empty birdcage the three women had found inside this place and thus the Birdcage had been christian so.

Currently, the three women trudged inside their headquarters, worn out and clearly not in the mood to secure their motorbikes. An asskicking would do that, ya know. Finding the couch, Huntress collapsed onto the torn cushions, leaning her her head back to stare up at the ceiling, the back of her head resting against the top of the couch. Faintly, she was aware of the other two taking their usual spots, Black Canary sitting on the office chair, straddling its back with her legs as she sat in it backwards while Katana collapsed in a worn out lounging chair. Apparently they felt the same way Huntress did.

What had started as a fun night had come crashing down with the man dressed as Batman. Sure, there were plenty of middle-aged old farts running around in make-shift batsuits, but this guy...he was different. Add that to the batarang trick he used and the purple-clad vigilante was more than willing to call him a Batman.

Shame that she saw the first one die.

"Someone want to tell me what the hell happened back there?" Black Canary spoke up then.

"You're guess is as good as mine," Huntress replied tiredly.

"Am I mistaken or was that the Batman. I mean the real, genuine Batman," the blonde continued, picking up steam. "I know he's supposed to be dead, but that guy didn't seem all that dead to me."

"Well, either he came back from the dead-which I highly doubt-or someone else put on the mask. Someone really good."

"He is...well trained," Katana added then, her voice raspy and strained. Out of all of them, Katana was still feeling the after-effects of the fight, what with Bat 2.0 nearly crushing her larynx. She hadn't spoken much at all on the way back, most likely resting her throat or something of the like.

"No one's debating that," Huntress responded. "We've all got the bruises to prove it."

The asian woman shook her head. "Not...what I mean. His...skills are...similar to assassin. Very unique...fighting style."

"So this guy was an assassin." That made Huntress recall her first few encounters with the original Bat, how he would willingly break another man's body, but refrain from giving the finishing blow. No way an assassin would pass up that chance. Plus, every time one of them managed to get this new guy on the ropes, he would just pull out a more damaging move, each one more devastating than the last. It was as if he didn't want to use those moves unless necessary…

Unless necessary…

 _It's one thing to take down a bunch of thugs, it's another to actively try and maim them._

Those words startled the dark-haired woman. It had been some of the first ones the Batman had said to her and she had disregarded them just as quickly. For them to return now, heh, it was almost poetic. No way would the Bat try to injure them like this.

 _You and them got into a fight, they lost, end of story._

Then again…

"What do you think, H?" Black Canary suddenly asked, disrupting Huntress' musings. "You're the only one of us that's seen the Bat up close. Is this the real deal?"

A sigh escaped the dark-haired woman's lips. "My first thought is no, this is someone different," she admitted, still looking up at the ceiling. "But there were...things. Things this guy did that makes me think that maybe this is the original. You saw what he did with the shuriken, right? Knocking those Jokerz out with them?"

"You've been trying to do that for months," the blonde pointed out.

That caused Huntress to look to the other woman, scowling at her. Behind Canary she could see a folding table bookended by shelves. Much of the room was like that furniture wise. It sort of looked like a garage minus the cars and tools. Instead, it was furniture stocked with equipment. Shuriken, smoke pellets, the basics. There were even spare bo staffs and crossbows for Huntress specifically. Other shelves and tables had stuff for Canary and Katana; in fact, Katana was returning from one of the tables with a sharpening stone. Taking a seat back in her chair, she unsheathed her sword and began running the stone against its edge, sharpening it with _sheeing!_ sounds.

Back to Canary, Huntress continued to glare. "And I just about mastered it, thank you very much. And I got the idea from him. He could do it effortlessly."

"And what makes you think this guy couldn't have practiced more than you?"

"Possible," Katana agreed, rejoining the conversation. But then she countered, "But no two fighters...the same."

That was something to consider. No matter how much Huntress had practiced, she hadn't achieved that ease the Batman had in regards to that trick. The way the new guy acted, maybe it was possible that this was the original.

"But there comes the big stumbling block," the purple-clad woman rebutted. "Batman died three years ago. That's not something people come back from."

"Maybe he didn't die?" Black Canary suggested.

"They found his mask and cape," Huntress deadpanned. "It was still smoking."

"And the body?" Katana inquired.

Huntress was about to answer when she stopped halfway. There hadn't been a body found at the sight, just the leftovers of the Batman's cape. She supposed the man could've taken it off, but then why disappear? And why reappear after so long, after everyone considered him nothing more than a story? Nothing was adding up.

"I think...we have a mystery on our hands," she said reluctantly.

There was a pregnant pause between them. What else could anyone say to that declaration? Huntress was hard pressed to say something and she had been the one to say it! Unfortunately, she still had that migraine making things harder to think, so she gave up that line of thinking.

"How about that woman at the end?" Huntress asked. "She came out of nowhere and vanished just as quickly."

And that was a second mystery. Right at the end, a bright light had appeared and knocked everyone, including the Bat-guy to the ground. Huntress had thought it strange when she saw a woman in fishnets and a top hat appear, walk up to Bat-guy, then just as sudden vanished with him in a cloud of smoke. To think there was another person running around in fishnets…

At this she eyed Black Canary's legs warily, noting the torn material of the stockings. Some distant cousin perhaps?

"Simple...or not simple answer?" Katana returned.

"Simple, please."

The asian woman gave a small smile. "Magic."

Huntress and Black Canary looked at their comrade with incredulous eyes. "Are you kidding me?" the dark-haired woman demanded.

"It is only explanation I have," Katana replied.

"And what about the not simple one?" Black Canary asked.

Katana shrugged. "No idea."

It was damn near comical what their conversation had turned to. Magic? Seriously? Huntress went back to leaning her head against the back of the couch. This did nothing to help them figure out this new Batman and apparently his magical partner. Faintly, she wondered what the two of them were up to.

* * *

"So, are you going to be doing this silent treatment of yours, or are you going to tell me what happened?"

Batman stared straight ahead at the supercomputer, blatantly ignoring Zatanna's question. Fingers danced over the keyboard as he filled out the prompt in front of him. He was still getting used to recording his night's activities once more, something that was coming back to him quickly, but there were a few details he found himself leaving out at times. The magician's question could wait.

Apparently, Zatanna wasn't in the mood to wait. "Alright, if you don't want to talk to me, that's fine. I'll start: do you have any reason for beating up on three women tonight?"

That caused the vigilante to stop what he was doing. Women? What women? Tearing his gaze from the screen, he looked at the dark-haired woman, who was standing at his side with her arms crossed over her chest. She looked triumphant at finally drawing his attention. "What are you talking about?" he questioned.

"That fight you had." At this, Zatanna waved her hand to the computer. "I was watching you through that camera set in your mask and you went from beating up Jokerz to fighting these three women. A couple of them were actually good."

That wasn't right. With a shake of his head, Batman responded, "There weren't any women there, aside from Jokerz. I distinctly recall fighting monsters."

Zatanna snorted. "Oh, thanks. Is that how you view the fairer sex? Please, don't hold back, tell me your real feelings."

The Dark Knight felt his eye twitch at the woman's sarcastic tone and turned away to return to his work. "The Jokerz have acquired some sort of beasts and right now I need to figure out how. This can wait later."

There was a pause before the magician murmured, "You really think you fought monsters…" The next thing Batman knew, Zatanna called out, "Computer: bring up tonight's video recording."

Immediately, the screen began to flash, the prompt window shutting down as another took its place, revealing the beginning of tonight's patrol. A scowl appeared on the vigilante's face. If it wasn't for the quick-saving application, all that work he had put into his prompt would've been gone. It seemed he needed to give his friend here some lessons in computer etiquette.

Zatanna then moved right next to him, hitting a button on the keyboard to fast-forward through the video. When she reached the riot, she released the button and took a step back, recrossing her arms beneath her bosom.

Deciding to humor Zatanna, Batman watched the feed, seeing the few Jokerz he took down. However, a frowned began to work its way onto his face when he failed to see the transformation of the gang members-he distinctly remembered that part. He was in full-blown concern mode when Huntress appeared on the screen and he blatantly attacked her.

"The Hell?" he said out loud as he watched Huntress be tossed aside, only for a woman with a katana attack. That was followed by a blonde woman in a black leotard and fishnet stockings knocking him off the katana-wielding woman after he had crushed her throat. What was this?

Then the feed was paused, Zatanna having stepped forward and dropping a hand down to hit the pause button. "This is what I saw tonight," she began, still looking at the screen. "And it was here that I transported myself to stop it." Finally, she turned her head to regard him. "So tell me: what happened."

Batman leaned back in his chair, one hand raised to press against his mouth and chin. Absently, he moved that same hand to pull off his mask, revealing his sweaty face and shell-lacked hair. "I distinctly remember fighting monsters," he answered after a moment. "And it wasn't just Huntress-it was the Jokerz too. It's like they transformed right before my eyes."

"So you hallucinated?"

"That's what the facts seem to suggest."

There was another moment of silence before the dark-haired woman asked, "Was there some sort of gas out there? You know, to cause you to see those things?"

Bruce shook his head in the negative. "If that were the case, I wouldn't be the only one affected."

"So maybe you ingested something, like from the party. Was there something in the crab cakes?"

Again, the dark-haired man shook his head. "Then you would've felt the same effects too, as well as the other party-goers. No, this is solely from me."

And now that he thought about it, there was only one time that he was exposed to a foreign agent, when Jonathan Crane sprayed him with that gas at Phizer. The more he considered this, the more he recognized the effects.

This wasn't the first time he had come into contact with a toxin that caused fear. He had actually developed his own fear toxin, using a flower from Tibet as its base. Though his gas and Crane's appeared to be similar, Bruce's was quicker acting it seemed, while Crane's was more insidious.

"You have this look on your face; you know what's happening."

Bruce looked to Zatanna, who was staring back in worry. "I may be experiencing some after-effects of a fear toxin," he told her. "It shouldn't-"

"Whoa, whoa, wait, fear gas?" the magician interrupted. "Like that stuff you made for Green Lantern?"

He nodded. "It's similar, but there appears to be some differences."

"Then I think you need to find out just what's it's doing, before it makes you do more damage."

This time the dark-haired man shook his head. "That won't be necessary. I'm familiar enough with the compound and it doesn't have a long half-life. It should be out of my system soon."

The magician stared at him before she scowled. "Uhh, no, bad idea, Bruce. You know better than that. Whatever you think is important can wait until you run a test."

Well, when she put it that way, she was right. Pushing himself out of his chair, Bruce strode to his lab set up, grabbing a nearby stool and setting it in front of the table. "If you could go to the med bay, I need a butterfly needle and blood culture," he called back to Zatanna.

"Because you asked so nicely," he heard the dark-haired woman tease from behind him before the sound of her high-heeled shoes clicked and clacked on the cave floor, growing softer as she moved away. In the meantime, Bruce removed the gauntlet from his left forearm, placing it down on the lab table and followed that with the armor on his arm. By then, he heard Zatanna returning, the woman placing his requested items in front of him on the table.

However, she didn't stop there as she opened up the kit with the butterfly needle. She pulled out a blue rubber band and wrapped it tightly around Bruce's bicep, the dark-haired man fisting his left hand until he was able to make out his veins. With a finger, he searched his arm until he found his antecubital vein, feeling it bulging beneath his finger. Reaching out fo the needle, Zatanna cracked open an antiseptic vial and began cleaning the skin right where Bruce intended to puncture himself. It was like clockwork between the two of them as they performed the procedure, one taking up the next step as the other finished with the previous.

Unsheathing the needle, Bruce positioned it over his arm, pausing for a second before pushing it into his vein. Thankfully his vein didn' roll and he entered it immediately, blood filling up the tube that hung behind the needle's catheter.

At the end, Zatanna attached a syringe, preventing the blood from flowing out. Drawing back on the plunger, she took out a sample, repeating the same with a second syringe. Once that was done, Bruce pulled the needle out of his arm, dropping it on the table before picking up a piece of gauze and pressing it against his arm. In the meantime, Zatanna was preparing the blood culture, a cotton mask on her face as she worked, giving the dark-haired man a moment to his thoughts.

Though the dark-haired woman had been right to make him run a blood test, it didn't mean he couldn't work on his other problems, particularly his latest one. Huntress was still on the streets even after his untimely demise, along with picking up some friends while she was at it. He couldn't say he was all that thrilled about this development. He needed to figure out just who these partners of hers were and determine what complications they may bring.

It also raised the question of who else decided to put on a mask and begin patrolling the streets of Gotham. He had already encountered copycat Batmen and he wasn't the least bit pleased by that development. Undoubtedly there were others, not just middle-aged men in sports guards.

This required further investigation.

"You know, we have weird dates," Zatanna said after awhile. "You take me to big rich people parties, I take your blood for potential poisonings. Whatever happened to meeting up for coffee?"

And where was Zatanna going with this? What did this have anything to do with what happened tonight?

Seeing that the vigilante wasn't going to reply, the magician continued, "So I was thinking, perhaps we need to do something. Together. Just us. If you're up for it."

No, Batman couldn't say he was really up for anything right now. "That'll have to wait," he replied to her. "Too much is going on for me right now. I've been out of the game for too long and I still need to get used to the way Gotham is now."

There was a slight slump in Zatanna's shoulders, the only sign she gave that she was disappointed with his answer. "Alright," she responded after a moment. Then she suddenly straightened out her shoulders.

"There's something else we need to talk about."

Zatanna's words were like a bucket of cold water splashing on the dark-haired man. Looking to the magician as she pulled off her face mask, she then looked at him with a stern expression, one that told him she was not going to be taking No from him.

Bruce got the feeling he was not going to like this.

"I'm coming out with you the next time you patrol," Zatanna said, her tone brokering no argument. "You've been acting reckless the last few nights, if this gassing of yours is any indication. If you're not going to be looking out for yourself, then someone else is going to have to and that person is going to be me."

He was right, he didn't like that one bit.

"I don't need a chaperone," Bruce growled dangerously.

"I'd be inclined to agree with you if you hadn't just gotten into a brawl with an army of Jokerz and those three women," Zatanna retorted. "You're not going to do any good if you keep that up."

"That won't happen again. I know what to expect now."

The dark-haired woman raised an eyebrow at that. "You think you can fight off another hallucination? After tonight?"

"I do."

There was a moment of silence between them. Throughout it all, Bruce could see the doubt on the magician's face, which only riled his irritation more. He was not some ametuer on his first patrol; he had been in worse scrapes than this and the sooner Zatanna saw this, the better off she would be.

And then she said, "I wasn't going to say anything about this, but I got a call from Superman and the others. You know, those guys that made that Justice League thing."

This was news to the dark-haired man. Since when did Zatanna have a direct link with them? And how had she kept it quiet for so long? Bruce found this a little troubling the more he thought about it.

Despite his thoughts, Zatanna continued, "They called about the Sol murder. They were wondering if it you did it."

"And you told them?" Bruce questioned, his eyes slowly narrowing.

"That it wasn't you. But I got the distinct impression they were keeping an eye on this. It's not all that surprising since you did try to kill them all last month."

"So what, are they coming to Gotham?" he pressed. The last thing he needed was that group of super friends bumbling into town. It was obvious they had suspicions about his guilt and were trying to confirm them. With the amount of scrutiny he was currently getting, he didn't need flying men with x-ray vision, telepathy, and superspeed investigating him. That would only complicate the situation.

"They're not," Zatanna answered him, much to his relief. "But if anymore of these murders happen, you can bet they'll be coming in. So, the way I see it is, you can have me out on patrol with you, helping out with Gotham and keeping the Justice League out. Or you can leave me cooped up in this cave and eventually bring them in to do their own investigation into you. The choice is yours."

If there was ever a time Bruce found himself between a rock and a hard place, this...was pretty damn close to it. Have Zatanna help, or have superpowered heroes invading Gotham.

He didn't like this one bit.


	8. It's a Strange World After All

It's a Strange World After All

Always within arms' reach but never held closely, Arkham Asylum was like that one cousin everyone knew about, but did not want to talk about. The previous parable was apt as the building itself was situated just outside the city yet still within sight of it. The city itself could see the large, gothic monument to mental illness, but had the luxury of being able to ignore it.

It was interesting where his thoughts would sometimes lead him. It was a handy practice for him, especially outside of therapy sessions.

Oh, forgive him. It's not often he has company. His name was Professor Hugo Strange, one of the clinicians that warred with all sorts of mental illness and instability on a daily basis. He was a man of a rare breed: he was the kind that enjoyed what he did. His fascination with the human brain, how it worked, and what happened when the organ malfunctioned knew no boundaries.

What better way to-ahem. Excuse him. No one was here to know about his thoughts. No, it was all about those who called this place "home." Those who were ill and those who were "criminally insane." A crude term that he scoffed at. The field of mental health did not recognize insanity of any sort. Not when there were so many dimensions to it.

So barbaric how so many dismissed the power of a brain that was...broken for a lack of a better word.

What better place to probe the mysteries of the brain than here in Arkham? While the general population viewed this place with instinctual distrust, which was quite unwarranted, Strange saw Arkham in a much different light. He saw it as a place that was on the cutting edge of mental health research and application. What better place to try out new techniques to fight the various disorders that plagued humanity? And on a population ripe for treatment?

He would stop at a captive audience, though he did have the power to keep individuals here as long as he wished.

More specifically, Jeremiah Arkham had that power, but the spineless man listened to his wisdom more often than not. A useful puppet to take care of the administration work so that he could focus more on what he enjoyed, if he didn't say so himself.

Which he did.

There were so many people here to work with. True, many of them were psychotic, but so many others were depressed, bipolar, anxiety-ridden, dissociated, and a few had somatization disorders too! He, however, had a taste for the more, how would he say it, difficult to work with. What better way to match his great intellect than against someone who would really challenge him?

Currently, they had a new admission that he was...eager to work with. Jonathan Crane was his name, the self-styled "Scarecrow" who had been in the news recently. Just listening to how the man reprimanded the men who, ahem, "chauffeured" him into the asylum how been quite entertaining. And the vocabulary! It didn't take him long to place a diagnosis of Antisocial Personality Disorder on the poor man, but the degree to which he was suffering, that would be the adventure.

Naturally, it didn't take long for him to prevail on dear Jeremiah to assign him as Jonathan's therapist and case manager. Poor Jeremiah, so overburdened. So malleable.

So easy.

Once he had heard one of the orderlies crack that he should be in charge of Arkham. Not a bad idea, but the burden of paperwork, budgets, and administration of day-to-day operations was far beneath him. Let the heir to the Arkham name handle it all. His brilliance was put to better use elsewhere.

That was what placed him in the asylum so late. He was more than willing to remain after hours, tending to his patients, and exploring the depths of the dysfunctional brain if it could challenge him that much more. In fact, he had one last appointment for tonight with a very special case. It was one that any clinician would salivate over just spend one minute with him.

But no, Hugo Strange did not share. This one was his, and only his, to treat and to examine. To discover what made this man who he was and how he came to be, then show off to the world the why he was the unquestioned authority on this topic. So far he had met only resistance, but with the right approach and enough persistence, it was only a matter of time until he received what he craved.

He was Professor Hugo Strange, after all. There was no one alive who could expect any less from him.

Tonight was going to be very, very interesting. He had a feeling about it. It was rare that his instincts were wrong-

Hm? What could that be?

He had heard...something. A noise. While the asylum wasn't the most hushed place at night, a noise like that one was still odd. Had someone gotten out of their room again? If so, he was going to have a word with Jeremiah about it. He could not work under such circumstances, especially not at his full potential.

An investigation into this noise was warranted. There was still time before he had to meet his patient. He would make his silent inquiry then return to his office once his curiosity was sated.

* * *

"Crane."

Crane shot up in his bed, eyes wide as the bedsheet pooled around his lap. His straw-like hair pointed in every direction, giving him a bedhead look. His appearance, as disheveled as it was, did not stop the quick mind it hid as the thin man looked directly at the darkest part of his new room.

Taking a step forward, Batman stood before the man, his cape shrouding him in darkness. It hadn't been all that hard to get into the Arkham cell and none of the soft noises he had made had disturbed his target.

Following the blood test, Batman had been quick to realize that none of the chemical compounds in Crane's formula had existed in his own. There were some similar ingredients, but it was painfully obvious that this man had either stumbled upon something quite potent, or knew exactly what he was working towards. Either way, the vigilante had to know how Crane had developed it. It didn't help that he was on a timer since Zatanna was waiting in the Batmobile. Though she was insistent on coming with him, he wasn't about to expose her face to a depraved criminal like Crane.

"What do you want?" Crane demanded, chest expanding and contracting with every breath.

"Your fear toxin, tell me everything about it." Batman took a step towards the man. "And don't _lie_ to me."

"Why should I tell you?" the thin man retorted before a sly smirk appeared on his face. "Are you _seeing_ anything?"

The dark-clad man narrowed his eyes. Oh, Crane knew exactly what his toxin could do. So this wasn't some accidental creation of his. "I'm not in the mood to play games."

"But I am. I have plenty of time on my hands, thanks to you. So if you want to know about my formula, you're going to-"

Batman shot a hand out, grabbing a fistful of Crane's shirt. With a strong pull, he yanked the man towards him, allowing his white lens to burn into the thin man's eyes. "If you want to be able to eat solid foods, you-"

"Intimidation," Crane suddenly interrupted him. "A threat of force to cower me into submission. Please, do so; it'll get me out of therapy." Crane practically spat the last word out of his mouth, such was his distaste for it.

Then he gave the vigilante a smirk. "Have I ever told you that I taught a class on phobias? There isn't much I don't know about the concept of fear-what it is, how it is created...how to control it. Just now I can see you're sensitive to its uses. You've wielded it expertly, I can tell. But who have you used it on? Ruffians in the streets? Mobsters without a high school education? Plebeians who are ignorant and blissful because of it. You'll find your bullish behavior has no effect on my genius intellect."

This was unexpected. But Batman was not a man to take no for an answer. With his other hand, he reached out and grabbed one of Crane's hand, immediately applying pressure to it. That alerted the thin man that something was not going his way. "You've got five seconds before I start breaking bones. I'm sure your therapist can see you with mangled limbs."

Crane blinked owlishly before admitting. "Quite an effective technique. I'm going to have to remember that one."

"Five...four…"

"Alright, alright!" the thin man exclaimed. "Let me go and I'll tell you everything."

"Tell me everything and I'll consider it."

Seeing himself cornered, Crane gave in. "I've been developing the formula for years. Originally it was to simulate the effect of fear in test subjects, but then it showed much more promise after I added a hallucinogenic. It proved so successful that it drew the attention of...of…"

When Crane trailed off, Batman began to apply more pressure, specifically to the man's pinkie finger. "The Board!" he screamed hysterically. "The Board of Directors at Gotham University! Those degenerates couldn't see the possibilities of my research and fired me. I had to do something for money!"

"So you decided to rob a failing chemical plant?" Batman finished for him.

"They don't call you a detective for nothing," Crane muttered. A little more pressure to his bone and he hissed, "The plant contained ingredients I required for further development of my formula. Unfortunately, those ingredients are rare and hard to come by when you don't have a benefactor willing to purchase them for you."

"So who's your benefactor now?"

"No one, thanks to you...again. Now that I am in Arkham, no one will ever touch me."

"That's not what I meant," the vigilante growled. "You were receiving funding before your robbery and after your firing. Who was it."

"A couple board members who coincidentally worked for Gotham University. I can be quite...persuasive when I need to be."

A loud _snap!_ was heard and Crane howled in pain. Batman couldn't help himself just by hearing those words. His fingers had spasmed and applied more pressure than Crane's finger could stand. At least the criminal knew he wasn't joking around. Moving onto the ring finger, he once more began applying pressure. "You better not be lying to me."

"I'm not!" Crane screamed shrilly. "I swear on my father's grave, it's the truth! Jesus Christ, someone help-!"

Batman released his grip on the man's shirt and delivered a sharp jab to his throat, stopping Crane's scream and causing him to choke. With his free hand, the thin man grasped his injured neck, gagging as he tried to suck in air. "Enough messing around," the dark-clad man growled. "I want the name of your real benefactor, or I promise you, you're going to have to learn to write left handed."

There was a few second of choked gasps before Crane began to shake. A low, muffled laugh escaped his lips as he looked up at the vigilante vengefully. "I must warn you," he rasped. "I managed to improve my formula and its effects were much longer than anticipated."

The vigilante scowled. "How long."

A cruel grin appeared on his lean face. "Days. Days upon days of visual stimuli and auditory hallucinations. I would say it's too good for you, but I'm beginning to think it's the perfect fate. Have fun."

Another snap and another finger was broken, followed by more wailing from the mad scientist. Shoving Crane onto his bed, where the man began to thrash and hold his injured hand, Batman exited the cell, pausing long enough to ensure that it was adequately locked. There was more to Crane's story than he was revealing and the Dark Knight had learned all he could for now. What was pressing was to develop an antidote for this toxin and prevent further episodes. He'd come back for Crane when he had other interrogation methods.

Turning away from the door, Batman was forced to stop in his tracks. Mere feet away stood a man, tall, bald, with a greying beard. His glasses hid his eyes, but they did nothing to hide the large smile on his face. "Bravo, Mr. Batman," the man greeted him. "That was highly educational."

Batman gave the man a once over, seeing the white lab coat he wore and quickly deducing the man was an employee of Arkham-an orderly or doctor perhaps. A name badge on the coat's left breast read Strange. He didn't reply to the man, merely staring him down.

"I must say, you are an interesting specimen," Strange said. "A man of your statute who dresses himself as a nocturnal animal and beats low-life ruffians with his fists. How I would love to get you on my couch."

Oh great, this man was one of the shrinks. This did not bode well.

Strange suddenly began coughing, clearing his throat. "Pardon me, where are my manners? Allow me to introduce myself: I am Professor Hugo Strange, one of the psychiatrists of Arkham Asylum. It is a pleasure to make your acquaintance."

Batman continued to regard the man before he began walking towards him, moving around the professor before entering the corridor to leave. This did nothing to dampen Strange's mood, however. In fact, the professor began to trail behind him, continuing to talk for the both of them. "I couldn't help but overhear your conversation with my patient, Jonathan Crane. I'm afraid to say I have yet to meet with him as of yet, but I do intend on making him my first priority in the morning." A pause. "I believe you spoke to Dr. Crane about a fear toxin he had developed. If you wouldn't mind imparting your symptomatology, perhaps I can be of some assistance to you."

Again, Batman ignored him.

"I must admit, for someone of your mindset I am curious to know just what would frighten you. What monsters lurk in the recesses of your psyche. The human mind is a powerful instrument, more so in those it is broken and I am willing to wager that your mind is positively shattered."

Reaching the end of the corridor, Batman made to turn. However, the moment he turned the corner, he froze in his tracks. Standing mere feet in front of him was a man in a dark trench coat, his face covered in bandages.

Hush. But how? What was going on here? Batman felt his eyes widen at the sight of the most-assuredly dead man. The bandaged man turned and stared straight at him, eyes filled with contempt. "Still six steps behind, Bruce?" Hush asked mockingly. "Perhaps I can help you with that."

Suddenly, Hush raised his hand, one of his pistols gripped in it. There was no hesitation as he squeezed the trigger, firing the gun as the blast deafened Batman. However, the flash of the shot forced him to blink, and when he opened his eyes, Hush was nowhere to be found.

Batman would've had gasped, much like Crane had when he had been forcibly awakened. Damn it, that toxin was still in his system. Why hadn't he tested it the night he was exposed? He would have before, yet something...something was off. He could feel it in his mind that he was different in ways he was becoming most uncomfortable with. No wonder Zana was…

Heated breath caressed his cheek, interrupting his thoughts. Tilting his head to a side, he saw Strange standing uncomfortably close, so close that his very breath was blowing against the vigilante's face. A look of pure glee was on the professor's face. "I wonder what you're seeing," he said giddily. "Crane's toxin is at work, yes?"

A scowl appeared on Batman's face, causing him to jerk his arm, ramming his forearm into Strange's torso. The shrink jerked back in surprise, allowing the dark-clad man to begin walking again, this time at a faster pace. He needed to get out of here _now._

"Do come back," he heard Strange call out from behind him. "I will always make time for you."

* * *

What a fascinating creature…

Ahem. That had been unexpected. Not in all his…

Well, this was rare. He was having slight trouble keeping himself composed. How could he keep himself composed when someone like the Batman pays _Arkham_ a visit? An unlikely occurrence yet it had happened. He hadn't been lying when he had said he had wanted that man on his couch.

For years he had been fascinated by the vigilante Batman. He also scoffed at those that tried to simplify the man's existence. Did they not see that every little detail of that man had a purpose? The design of his costume, the method of his fighting, the fact that he was out in the city and stalking the creatures of the night.

There was meaning to every little facet of the Batman. From what little he had been able to gather, and he stressed little because insignificant news articles held little of value, the Batman was fighting something. Or _for_ something. That something was what motivated him to do what he did. In his personal opinion, that motivation had to be of the tragic nature. Perhaps as a child he had been a victim of violent crime. Maybe a spouse. A sibling?

But to see, finally see, the Batman up, close, and personal… To see his every movement, to hear his every spoken word, to study his every mannerism, it was….it was…

It was exhilarating.

Though their meeting was short, he, Hugo Strange, had gleaned so much information. Every single shred of it changed the mental model he possessed of the crimefighter, changing his perception, and adjusting the paradigm he had formed.

There were a few things that he had been off on. Others he had been close to being right. Yes, his model had been flawed, but now the picture was becoming clearer. For once, he didn't mind not being absolutely correct. That was where the challenge lay, and he so enjoyed a good challenge.

The Batman was proving to be that challenge, the kind that he craved. His expectations had been surpassed and he was nothing but hungry to continue. Maybe with some more observation, he'd be able solve the mysteries of the Batman.

Enough of that, for now though. He still had a patient he needed to see. Hmm, it was interesting that this patient was related to the subject of his fascination. Perhaps he could gain further insight.

Removing his gaze from the vicinity he had last seen the vigilante, he proceeded to head back towards his office. His patient should have been delivered by now. Yes, mustn't keep that one waiting. Who knew what he could get up to in there?

As he entered the hallway where his office was located, he could see two orderlies and a host of guards waiting further up ahead. Internally, he scoffed at the sight, yet at the same time understood the precautions. No one wanted to take any chances with this patient. Not after everything he was responsible for.

"Apologies for my tardiness. There was something I needed to tend to," he greeted the orderlies and guards. He ignored any replies given to him as he grasped the doorknob and turned it, opening the door to his office. He was swift as he entered the room where his patient awaited him, waiting for him to probe his mind.

"Hey ya, Doc! I must say it's been a dog's age. Why I haven't seen you since...hey, I've never seen you before. You need to get out more," chirped the colorful character that was the Joker.

Yes, another challenge just waiting for the brilliant mind of Professor Hugo Strange.

* * *

Tonight had been okay. They weren't making a killing, but hey, ya win some ya lose some.

Utter bullshit that last part. In this line of business, you better be making a killing or you were the one being killed.

He was Robert "Boxy" Bennett, and quite the catch for the ladies out there. He was young, meaning he was only just starting to gray, slick, and had a killer mustache no matter what Bronsky said it was. Plus he was sharp dresser. Out of all the guys in Valestra's operation, somebody had to be the sharp dresser and Boxy figured it might as well be him.

You didn't see girls draping themselves over Chuckie Boy, poor sap, or Buzz, or heaven forbid that cryptkeeper Valestra. No, they were on _him_ , Boxy Bennett. That's the way he liked it.

Now, to go with his sharp and slick image, he managed a gambling den. Real up and comer here. Hidden so that no cops came around demanding for permits he didn't have. Yet, enough people knew where it was so that it wasn't empty. Hell, you should see this place on Fridays. Money all over the place, you could swim in it. Those were his favorites days. Not Wednesdays. Or Tuesdays, but he especially hated Wednesdays. Middle of the week and it was a freaking ghost town.

But he shouldn't be thinking of that. Now that Chuckie Sol was gone, Boxy smelled a new position open in the sap's wake. Ol' Valestra was going to need to fill it and Boxy was determined to be the one who did. Sure, he hadn't been there in the beginning, but he had gotten in on some things with the big three. Done some investments. Fun times.

That financial stuff kinda went over his head but he was doing his best to learn it. Valestra wasn't going to pick any regular punk, and Boxy was no punk. This was his chance, man.

So to prove himself, he was going to have to turn things around here. No more ghost town in the middle of the week. Let's make this thing a moneymaking machine!

Let's also remember that call from the Weasel that there was a chance he could get put in charge of Chuckie's Shady Lady, when the place was finished, of course. Plenty of motivation for Boxy Bennett to get his rear into gear.

In fact, he was going to do something about it right now. Yeah, show some damn initiative. Letting things stay the way they were wasn't going to get him anywhere. Time to show everyone that Boxy Bennett could play in the big boy leagues. Oh yeah, that was right.

Leaving all the action while his boys kept their eyes on the guests, Boxy Bennett headed back to his office. Compared to other places, it wasn't much but it was _his_. Smaller than his tastes would like, it still gave him a view of his den from above. Had to use blinds if he wanted things to remain private though. Knew he should have invested in tinted glass. Well, you know what, if there was any extra money laying around, he'd get right on that.

Valestra wouldn't miss a few thou, would he? Of course not, he was too busy with the big stuff. Plus, you had to expect people skimming off the top whenever gambling was involved. Like a fact of nature there.

Up a set of stairs and down a short hallway, he entered the Box as he called it. You know, to go with his...you know, Boxy Bennett...aw, forget it. Who cared what anybody else thought, that was what he was calling his office, damn it.

He entered the Box, closing the door behind him and turning on a nearby lamp to lighten the dark room. Pausing, he reached out and pulled down a flap to cover the small pane of glass inlaid in the door. He proceeded to the window blinds next, making sure he had some privacy here.

Slapping his hands together then rubbing them together, he sauntered towards his desk, eager to get some things started. He had some ideas of what he could do to get the ball rolling, whatever it took to make his star rise. The only question was who was he going to call first?

Without warning, the lamp clicked off, startling him slightly. What the hell? Goddamn it, now he could barely see anything. It was only thanks to the light leaking through the window blinds that he could see anything at all. Had the bulb gone out? Shit, would be his luck to have it happen now. Okay, were there any spares?

Rifling around through the drawers in his desk, he didn't find anything, pissing him off more. Might as well unscrew the damn thing; would save some time and he could throw it at somebody's head. Let'em know he needed a new bulb.

Putting his ambitions aside for the moment, he stalked towards the lamp, taking a moment to turn it off, you know, so that when he put the new one in it wouldn't burn the skin off his fingers or something like that. Suddenly, the lamp lit up, causing him to blink rapidly to shield his eyes.

Fuck! What the hell! Was someone playing a damn joke on him? Oh, somebody was going to…

As he blinked his eyes opened, he noticed movement on the floor. Was that smoke he was seeing? No...no, it looked more like some kind of fog, or a mist. More importantly, what was it doing in his office?

Following the fog, mist, whatever it was, he found that off to the far side of the room there was a bunch of the stuff, coming out of freaking nowhere!

"What the hell?" he said to himself, repeating the thought that had been going through his head a lot lately.

Hold on, something was moving in that mist. Kinda looked like...a person?

A gray-hooded figure emerged from the smoke-like fog-holy shit, was that some kind of skull the fucker had for a face?

"Boxy Bennett," a deep, ominous voice stated.

"Who are you? What do you want?" Boxy demanded, stepping back and towards the door. He grabbed for the doorknob, twisted...but the door didn't open. What? It was locked! When had that happened?!

He had taken his eyes off the hooded figure for a second to stare at the door in fright only to remember he had practically turned his back on this guy! Snapping his eyes back to the figure, his eyes widened as he saw how much closer he was.

Raising a bladed hand and pointing a very sharp-looking tip at him, the figure said, "Your angel of death awaits."

"Angel?" he repeated. "Death? Hold on, you're the guy who whacked Chuckie?"

The figure didn't answer him, only took another step closer to him.

"W-wait, hold on. You don't have to do this. We can figure something out!" He tried his best to move away, unintentionally moving away from the door and further into his office. He paid no attention to that little fact, though. His eyes were only for whoever this was and that wicked-looking hand he had. "What do you want?"

"I want to put you in a box, Mr. Bennett," the figure retorted.

"No…" he gasped out before screaming, "Boys! Hel-"

A quick slash stopped him.

* * *

"Why's this door locked?" one of Boxy's men grumbled, struggling with the door. He and a few of the others had heard Boxy scream out, so naturally they had come to see what all the commotion was about. Except the damn door wasn't letting them in.

Guess this is why God gave them feet.

The man raised his foot up and kicked at the door. A little sturdy, but not enough. He gave it another kick, the door frame giving way from the force. The door swung open and the man was the first in, a hand reaching for his gun.

Immediately, he spotted Boxy sitting on the floor, legs sprawled in front of him, back pressed against the wall, and staring straight ahead like he had seen a ghost.

"Boxy?" he called out, hurrying over to his boss. "Boxy?" he tried again as he reached Boxy's side, placing a hand on the man's shoulder and slightly jostling him.

In response, Boxy's head popped right off his neck, blood squirting out and staining anything that happened to be close. Boxy's head bounced off his body and rolled along the floor until it came to a stop against his desk.

"Fuck!" the man screamed, ignoring the others who ran up behind him. "What the flying fuck!"

None noticed the dying trail of smoke that faded away near a window.

* * *

 **Author's Note:** If anyone is wondering about Boxy Bennett, he's a character from Batman the Animated Series. He showed up in a couple of episodes, both involving Harley Quinn. And yes, he owned a gambling den in the series that Harley crashed during an episode when Batman was using her to track down the Joker who just happened to get his hands on an atom bomb. Fun stuff. Anyway, he makes a quick appearance here, perhaps the first real graphic death in this story. Not going to be the last either, I assure you guys.


	9. The Batclan

The Batclan

They had intercepted the call via the police radio frequency. After the Crane interrogation at Arkham, someone called in the murder of Boxy Bennett. Fortunately the Batmobile was close to the location, so the detour was made.

This led to Batman standing in the office, canvassing the scene. Zatanna had been miffed that she was being left out of the investigation once more, but the vigilante managed to convince her to be his escape route considering his relationship with the GCPD wasn't as solid as it used to be. This put him on a running clock to examine the crime scene and get out before the police arrived. Currently the magician was perched on the roof of a building across the street from Boxy's place, keeping an eye out for the first responders. If things took too long here, she'd magick him out and no one would be the wiser.

So far there hadn't been much of a struggle. The office wasn't a mess, so whoever the murderer was was quick and efficient. The body was currently sitting on the floor, the head lying elsewhere in the room, Boxy's eyes glazed over from death. Leaning closer to the body, Batman studied the wound, noting the edges of the skin were neatly cut, not jagged or burned. This indicated a very sharp weapon, most likely a sword and a sharp one at that. Whoever had used it only used one swing too since there were no signs of repeated strikes. Out of all the room, most of the blood was surrounding the body, having been sprayed when the head most likely fell off.

Looking away, Batman began searching for any other blood stains, finding an arc on the floor near the head. It was most likely the cast-off from the cut. Noting that the floor had carpet, the dark-clad man looked towards Boxy's feet, finding some discoloration in the fibers. What looked like crude swipes were footsteps and it looked as if Boxy had been backing away from his killer. One discoloration off to the bodies side indicated that the killer had stepped there, adjusting their stance for some reason. Considering that the 911 caller had found the victim like this and incidentally knocked the head off, it was possible the killer has position the body so.

Moving back a couple steps, the vigilante began to slowly spin around, being sure to look at every aspect of the room. This was so he had visual footage of the scene for further review later.

However, because of that, he noticed a second door, one further away from Boxy's body. And if he wasn't mistaken, the carpet there looked filthy. Carefully, the Dark Knight approached it, kneeling down in front of it as he examined it. Reaching to a pouch on his left, he pulled a small plastic bag and opened it, retrieving a pocket knife from another pouch. Flicking it open, the vigilante cut some of the contaminated carpet fibers, being sure to collect multiple strands from multiple places. It wouldn't look good if the forensics team found a large missing section in the carpet.

Placing the carpet fibers in the bag, he then sealed it shut and placed the baggie and knife back in their respective pouches. Pausing, Batman then sniffed the air, noting a peculiar scent. "There's an odor in the air," he commented out loud, for recording purposes. "Not very strong, though that could be due to the air conditioner spreading it throughout the room. Smells like smoke...similar to smoke pellets, but more condensed. The user must've used a large quantity."

Which made some more sense. When the killer entered the room, he filled it with the smoke, which blinded Bennett until the fatal stroke. Batman frowned at that thought. Turning his head around, he noticed there wasn't more smoke behind him, so the smoke only extended to here, at least in its heaviest use. Due to the blood on the body, any residue there was hidden or contaminated. Still, he was thorough. Returning to the body, he began to examine it once more, searching for any of the smoky residue.

Unfortunately, Zatanna chose then to call him via the bluetooth piece in his cowl. _"Batman, you might want to consider getting out of there. The police scanner said the cops were five blocks away. I'd say you got a minute before they get here."_

Damn, he'd had to make this quick. Carefully, Batman scanned the body's clothes, making sure to physically look from shoulders to feet. He couldn't see any of the residue here, unfortunately, and if it was here it was destroyed by the blood. Scowling, the vigilante pulled away, standing up to his full height before heading towards the window he used to enter. Raising a hand up, he pressed a finger against his mask, right where his ear would be. "Are they here yet?"

" _They just turned the corner. You want me to pull you out?"_

"As long as you don't use smoke, yes."

There was a moment before a rainbow of light filled his eyes. It completely filled his vision, blinding him to the colors before it began to fade away. When it did, the vigilante was standing next to a smirking Zatanna. "A rainbow? Really?"

"Hey, you said don't use smoke and I needed some sort of segway to get you here," she remarked with a teasing tone.

"What's wrong with just transporting without effects?" he groused.

Zatanna placed her hands on her hips, looking at the Dark Knight disapprovingly. "Because that's completely tasteless. Magic has to have flare, styled after its user. Otherwise it would be-"

"Efficient? Subtle?" Batman suggested.

"-boring," the dark-haired woman finished, ignoring his interjections.

"And rainbows aren't boring," he deadpanned.

"You know, I could've easily done pink. A very hot, bright, pink," Zatanna replied, stressing her words.

"...rainbows are fine."

"I thought so."

Ignoring Zatanna, Batman approached the edge of the roof, looking down at the street as patrol cars came to a stop outside of Bennett's place. "It's time to move," he spoke.

"Because you were losing your argument?" Zatanna quipped as she moved to stand next to him, giving the dark-clad man a cheeky smile.

Returning her smile with an annoyed look, Batman replied, "Because the night is still young and we have patrol."

"And because you were losing."

He pointedly ignored the jab. "I'll follow our route by rooftop. You'll follow behind in the car."

Zatanna's eyes widened. "You...you're letting me drive...the Batmobile."

Like Hell he was. "The car will be on autopilot. It has access to the GPS locator chip in my suit and will follow the signal. You don't have to do anything except ride."

That caused the magician to scowl. Crossing her arms over her chest, she said, "Oh, I see how it is. You're trying to sideline me. How many times do I have to tell you that I'm trying to freaking help you?"

"Can you run over rooftops, jump alleyways, and climb skyscrapers without stopping?"

"I don't have to do all that work-that's what magic's for."

"So you're going to teleport yourself all over the city until you exhaust yourself?"

That caused Zatanna to hesitate. Despite her powers, as considerable as they were, they did tire her out if she used them needlessly. "Instead of magicking yourself from building to building, I'd rather you conserve your strength until you have to use it. Better you teleport once to me instead of fifteen times before we find something."

There was a moment of silence before Zatanna huffed. "Fine, you win. Ot eht rac."

A rainbow-colored aura enveloped the woman, blurring out her figure until it faded away, the magician nowhere to be seen. Satisfied, Batman raised both of his arms, holding one out in front of him while he used his hand to program his car to follow him, pressing buttons on his gauntlet. Once that was done, he then took off running across the rooftop, pulling out his grapple and leaping off the roof's ledge once he reached it. Firing the grapple, Batman felt himself begin to fall through the air when the line went taut and he began swinging through the night. A familiar rush hit him the wind blew against his body, his cape buffeting behind him. Even though he had been patrolling like this since his return, he was still hit with the thought that It had been a long time since he had done this-much too long. Perhaps it would be like that for awhile until he settled into routine again, but for now he relished the experience.

Landing on another rooftop, he hit the retraction button on his grabble, his line retreating back into the gun as he took off running. The vigilante made his way over several building's this way, even a couple of skyscrapers. That prompted Zatanna to sound off in his ear, _"You can really move, you know that?"_

The Dark Knight merely grunted as he slowed to a stop at the edge of a roof. Looking left and then right, he sought out any sort of suspicious activity finding none; only people were walking up and down the streets, heading to destinations only they knew. Content with that, Batman then looked to see his next landing stop when something caught his eye.

If there was one thing that hadn't gotten rusty during the vigilante's absence, it was his research skills. Starting with the trio of women he had fought, he discovered that they referred to themselves as the Birds of Prey. Huntress he already knew due to their previous interactions; however, her partners, Black Canary and Katana, had been of interest to him.

Much like he had done with Helena Bertinelli, Batman had tracked down the two women to their day jobs. For the blonde Canary, it was a flower store run by Dinah Lance. She was a beautiful woman to be sure, a flower girl by day, a martial artist vigilante by night. A review of their brief fight told the Dark Knight she knew how to fight extensively.

Even more interesting was the sword-wielding Katana. It had been quite some time since he had to dig deep to find out information and this woman, this Tatsu Yamashiro, was a very difficult subject. Aside from leaving her homeland of Japan, she had literally disappeared off the grid until she appeared in Gotham, and becoming part of these Birds of Prey. Batman found this troubling to say the least and felt determined to unearth more at a later time.

The only reason for the delay, to be frank, was that during his investigation of the Birds, he found out there was another vigilante group referring to themselves as the Batclan. And as the Dark Knight stood on his perch, he stared down at three individuals who he knew to be of this group.

It seemed he was going to have to have another confrontation.

Activating his communicator, the dark-clad man said, "Zana, I need you."

" _Is that a need as in you need help, or need as in a booty call? At this point I'd be fine with either one."_

"The first one," he replied. "I have more vigilantes to meet."

There was a silence before, _"You're going to fight them, aren't you."_

"Not if I don't have to, but you never know."

" _I swear to God, violence is always the answer with you."_

Deciding to ignore that jab, Batman activated the electric current in his gauntlet before leaping off the edge of the roof. Grabbing onto his cape, he felt it stiffen into its glider form, the vigilante gliding through the air as he circled towards his destination. As he descended down, he began to make out the three people, one he knew was a woman, the other two men.

Eyeing a roof access, Batman angled his flight there, swinging his legs forward as he leaned back. His feet made contact with the access structure just as he planned, the man releasing his grip on the cape and allowing it to go slack.

His sudden landing caught the Batclan members attention instantly. They had been moving away from his landing point, but due to the sound of his feet touching down on concrete, they all snapped their heads around, eyes going wide at the sight of him-well, at least for two of them.

Of the two startled members, one was the woman, who were a rather feminine replica of his own suit. Black and skintight, her suit fitted like a second skin, a short cape with a yellow underside hanging behind her. The woman had turned towards him during her startled jump, revealing a yellow bat-symbol on her chest.

So this was Batgirl.

Eyeing her, Batman noticed the wealth of red hair pouring over her shoulder, her wide blue eyes looking at him. In turn, the Dark Knight narrowed his eyes behind his lens. He had a suspicion as to who this woman was and he didn't really like the idea of it.

Turning his gaze to the men, he looked to the shorter of the two, the one who appeared as astonished as Batgirl. Red chest and legs, black gloves, boots, and cape, along with a domino mask that covered his face. The yellow R on his left pectoral stood as his symbol, Robin.

This stood in contrast to the taller man. Though they both had black hair, their body structures were very different. While Robin appeared to be on the verge of maturity, the other man, the one called Nightwing, was fully grown, lithe, and held himself on guard. A black bodysuit with a blue bird symbol covered his entire upper body.

"Holy crap," the one called Robin gasped out. "Is that the-"

"So you're the vigilantes I've been hearing about," Batman interrupted, not in the mood for shock and awe. There were more important matters at hand.

"H-heard about," Robin repeated before looking to his compatriots. "Guys, he's heard about us."

"Nice things, I'm sure," Nightwing responded, shifting his stance every so warily. "Though I can't say the same about him." The young man looked directly at the dark-clad man. "For instance, is this really the Batman, or another copycat?"

Of course, right then a rainbow-colored aura appeared behind Batman, Zatanna emerging from it to stand casually behind the crouched vigilante. "Someone's questioning your cred, Bats," the magician quipped, resting one of her hands on his shoulder as her rainbow aura dissipated. Then she directed her next words to the vigilante group, "I can assure you this is the real deal."

Nightwing raised an eyebrow. "And you are?"

"Oh, just Batman's stagehand at the moment. I dazzle people with magic tricks while my friend here sneaks around and beats people's heads in. It's very effective if you must know."

"I believe her," Robin spoke, though his eyes were looking off to Batman's left, right at Zatanna's fishnet-covered legs.

All the while, Batgirl had been silent at this. She had been staring straight at the Dark Knight, unable to tear her eyes away, briefly eyeing Zatanna for a second before returning them right to the dark-clad man. So it was to her he addressed his next words. "You need to stop what you're doing right now. This is a dangerous game you're playing and you're going to get hurt."

Those words riled up Batgirl's companions. "Hey, we're doing good work here," Robin protested, taking a step towards Batman and Zatanna, this time with eyes solely on the vigilante. "Why the heck should we stop when we're helping people?"

"Which is a hell of a lot more than you've been doing," Nightwing added with venom in his voice. "We're not the ones that took a three year vacation and let the city rot."

"Hey, that wasn't his fault," Zatanna immediately shot back. "He couldn't help that-"

Immediately, Batman raised a hand up and placed it on top of the magician's own on his shoulder. This had the desired effect of stopping her protest, causing her to look down at him with curious blue eyes. "I'm not going to say this again: you _are_ going to stop this. You will go back to your homes, take off those costumes of yours, and burn them. Do I make myself clear?"

"Oh, I'm sure they're going to agree to that," he heard Zatanna muttered to herself, low enough for only him to hear.

"I've got a better idea," Nightwing countered. "How about you go back to whatever rock you've been hiding under. We've been taking care of Gotham without you breathing down our necks and we're going to keep doing this whether you like it or not. You're not the boss here; you're not some king that determines who does what in this city."

"Okay guys, I think we all need to take a breath here," Robin suddenly said. Turning to the taller man, he added, "Let me handle this." Then he turned to Batman and Zatanna, holding his hands out in a placating gesture. "I think we've got off on the wrong foot here. How about we start all over here, introduce each other and all." When he didn't get a response other than Zatanna shifting beside Batman, placing her weight on one leg while bending the other at the knee, he continued, "I'm Robin, the Boy Wonder-extraordinaire. The tall guy behind me is Nightwing, a very good fighter and all-around nice guy. And I'm sure you noticed the lovely Batgirl behind me. I know she's been quiet this whole time, but don't let that fool you."

That seemed to snapped Batgirl from her daze, causing her to roughly smack the shorter youth on his arm. "Watch it, Robin."

Wincing from the punch, Robin began rubbing his bicep. "See? Now, how about you two? I'm sure you're a Batman of some kind, you know, with the other copycats running around. But what about your lady friend?"

Batman turned his head to look at Zatanna from the corner of his eye. They hadn't really addressed her having an alias while out on patrol, mostly because the dark-clad man was sure she'd still be in the cave for another week. This sort of put a priority on that now.

Apparently, Zatanna was all that caught up in names. "I'm Zatanna, the Mistress of Magic," she declared. "And right now I can turn you all into newts if the mood strikes me."

The three vigilantes stared at the dark-haired woman. Then Nightwing looked to Robin and asked, "You sure you want to keep handling this?"

"Consider this your only warning," Batman said then. "The next time we meet, I won't be so nice."

"This is nice?" Nightwing questioned. "I'd hate to see you when you're angry."

Ignoring the sarcastic remark, Batman stood up to his full, casting his shadow over the three. He gazed at them for a moment before turning away, pulling out his grapple and firing it the building next to them, the one he had originally observed the so-called Batclan. Wrapping an arm around Zatanna's waist, that was the only warning she had before he sent them flying up into the air. Quickly the dark-haired woman wrapped her arms around them as they climbed higher and higher.

"You know, considering how your last confrontation with a vigilante group went, I have to say this is an improvement," Zatanna remarked.

Everyone was a critic.

* * *

The Batmobile came to a stop on the platform, said platform raising the vehicle up and turning it around to face the tunnel it had just exited. Once the platform lowered to its original height, the canopy of the car slid open and Batman and Zatanna climbed out.

The night had been a relatively quiet one, the Arkham visit and run-in with the so-called Batclan notwithstanding. To put it in Zatanna's words, "Good God this is boring. When do we go home again?"

After hearing that for the seventh time, the vigilante had given into the complaining, driving the two back to the cave. No matter how long he stared down on the streets, if the criminals were staying home then they were staying home and not causing trouble.

As Batman headed to the supercomputer, he heard his partner announced, "I'm going to shower. Care to join me?"

Stopping, Batman turned his head to look at the magician, who had a suggestive look on her face. That look disappeared at the sight of his passive expression. "Oh right, your after-patrol routine; I'd forgotten about it. Well, if you hurry up, you might catch me still wet." Then without further delay, Zatanna sauntered towards another area of the cave, where the showers were.

Though her offer was tempting, the dark-clad man had to put in his night's report. Once more making his way to the computer, he took a seat in the chair and booted up the systems. Once the screen was lit up, he brought up the report prompt and began typing in the night's activities, from his interrogation of Crane, the bizarre behavior of Professor Hugo Strange, the Boxy Bennett murder, the meeting with the three amateur vigilantes, to the inactivity of the night. The sound of pressed keys filled the cave, creating a constant beat.

So naturally it was towards the end of his report that he smelled coffee.

Ignoring the scent, Batman pressed on until he put in the last letter and punctuation mark in the prompt. Zatanna must've finished her shower by now and thought it was a good idea for a hot, steaming drink. Very thoughtful of her. Saving the prompt, the vigilante let out a small sigh before pulling off his mask, revealing his sweat-covered face and matted black hair. Turning towards the source of the scent, he spotted a silver tray with a small cup of coffee on it.

And holding the tray was Alfred.

"Your coffee, Sir," the butler said, offering the drink to the dark-haired man. Eyes wide, Bruce stared back at the older man, mouth wide open in astonishment. This just led Alfred to raising an eyebrow. "Sir?"

"Alfred, you're...here…" Bruce trailed off, still in shock.

"Well I certainly would hope so. It's not as if I have anywhere else to go."

Bruce let his eyes roam Alfred, taking in the sight of his suit, his rigid posture, his aging face. It was all there, just as if the man had never been...been…

Right then he noticed a trickle of blood on Alfred's face, leaving a trail down the side of his nose and towards the corner of his mouth. There was a red dot right between his eyes, though on closer inspection it was hole-a bullet hole.

"Is there something wrong, Master Bruce?"

"Alfred...you're bleeding."

"Is that so?" Alfred didn't seem the least bit shocked at this news. "I must've accidentally cut myself on something. Old age must be catching up with me."

Accidentally? How did someone accidentally shoot themselves in the head? The ridiculousness of that thought must've showed up on the younger man's face as Alfred continued, "Or perhaps it was that bullet that was put into my skull. Most assuredly that must be it; the one you failed to prevent."

"Alfred, I'm sorry," Bruce immediately apologized, turning his chair to fully face the man. "I didn't mean for this to happen."

"Yet it did, young Sir. This seems to be a lesson we must go over and over with you. We are playing with high stakes and anyone of us can get hurt. Yet, you refused to think your rash action through and this was the result: your faithful butler, the man who watched you blossom into this sad, tragic farce you've become, lying on the floor, helpless before a madman with a gun."

Faintly, the sound of that gunshot echoed in Bruce's ears. He could practically see it, Alfred lying on the floor, the Joker standing over him as he held that large handgun and pointed it at the butler's face. The instantaneous flash and explosion of gunpowder leading to the bullet flying out of the gun and into Alfred's head went in slow motion before the dark-haired man's eyes, the squirting of blood launching up into the air once contact between lead and skull were made.

"Dare I say it, it reminds you of the alley, doesn't it? You failed to act then, just as you failed to act with me. And if you carry on with this mad quest of yours, the same will befall Miss Zatanna or even you-and this time, there won't be a Lazarus Pit to bring you back."

Suddenly, Alfred was standing in front of Bruce, leaning down as he pressed his hands on the chair's armrests, allowing the older man to stare Bruce in the eye. "You cannot win, Bruce. Don't you remember the roof of the ACE Chemical Plant? I do. What was it the Joker said? That all you were doing was for nothing. That this city will go back to the way it was once you were gone. You know just as well as I do that he is right. That-"

Faintly, Bruce heard someone call his name. For a moment Alfred hesitated, a frown appearing on his face; yet, that didn't stop him from pressing forward. "Just look at Gotham. It did just as the Joker predicted, falling back into its old, vile ways. It is inevitable. It-"

Suddenly, a bright white light blasted into Alfred, wiping the man from Bruce's sight. Caught off guard, the dark-haired man flinched back into his chair, squeezing his eyes shut.

And then he felt a soothing hand caress his cheek. Slowly opening his eyes, he saw Zatanna kneeling right where Alfred had been. "Bruce, it's okay," she said soothingly. "It's okay."

Once more Bruce closed his eyes, taking a deep breath as he did so. It was then he realized just how fast and ragged his breathing had become, his chest expanding and contracting at a considerable rate. How hadn't he noticed this? Immediately he began going through his relaxation techniques, slowly calming his body. When he opened his eyes, he once more saw Zatanna, a worried expression on her face.

"You were seeing things again, weren't you," she said, no question in her tone.

"Yes," he answered.

"I'm getting worried, Bruce," she then said, this time receiving a look from the dark-haired man. "Okay, more worried than usual-happy?"

"Very."

"At least one of us is," the woman grumbled. "Tell me you're doing something about this."

"I'll need to check the blood cultures," Bruce replied, yet didn't get out of his chair. Considering Zatanna was in front of him, wearing nothing more than a fluffy white robe, it wasn't like he could get up. However, there was something else that was forming in his mind, a piece of the puzzle that involved Crane's fear toxin. "I've felt these effects before."

Zatanna blinked her eyes owlishly. "You...you have? When?"

"When I was apart of the Demon's Fang," he said. "There was a blue flower with hallucinogenic properties-in fact, one of the trials to join the Demon's Fang was to experience these effects. I ended up using it in the protocol I developed for Green Lantern."

That caused the magician to perk her head up. "So you were the one who made that fear gas? Why didn't you say so earlier? You could've already made an antidote!"

Bruce shook his head. "To my own formula, yes I could. However, Crane's could be radically different from mine concerning ingredients. Not everything I used was found in his toxin; there were other unidentified elements. Without knowing exactly what he used, I could end up exacerbating the effects of his compound rather than treating them."

"And we wouldn't want that." Zatanna sighed. "You really don't make things easy, do you?"

The corner of Bruce's mouth twitched up. "You should already know that about me."

"Oh, believe me, I do. I just forget about it until you decide to remind me," she retorted.


	10. Sell Your Soul

Sell Your Soul

"...and as clearly detailed in line twenty four on page six in the third paragraph, you'll see the generous percentage Beaumont Accounting requests for compensation," the Beaumont representative droned, holding said page of the business agreement out to the Wayne Enterprises Board members, a pen in his hand pointing to the specific section. "You'll notice that we're asking is below the normal market price."

Bruce lounged in his chair, looking just as bored as he felt. He was familiar enough with the contract that he was sure it'd pass, maybe not on the first vote, but eventually. The reason Beaumont Accounting had such a lower compensation rate was due to them snatching up more business from Wayne Enterprises, along with higher rates dependant on certain business activities. None of that should get past his board and he fully expect it to be brought up during a private conference that was sure to meet after the Beaumont representatives left.

Besides, there were other things on his mind that held slightly more importance to him. For one, his blood cultures had come back positive for an unknown substance in his blood, Crane's fear toxin. Unfortunately, his computer wasn't able to form a complete list of ingredients for the formula due to the degradation of the sample. That was his fault for not performing the test immediately upon returning to the cave after the initial exposure. That meant he was going to have to have another conversation with Crane to get an accurate account of the ingredients.

That matter could wait for now. What really had the dark-haired man's attention was Andrea Beaumont, who sat to a side of her representative, dressed to impress and looking very confident in her company's proposal. She had pretty much ignored Bruce after the initial greetings at the beginning of the meeting, shaking his hand and nothing more.

He wasn't perturbed by this as much as annoyed. For someone in Andrea's position, it was curious as to why she hadn't been pulling some favors from him, given their history. The billionaire had done some research into the redhead's accounting firm and discovered that her father had done some poor managing of the firm. If anything, Beaumont Accounting was desperate for the business Wayne Enterprises could provide them.

"I'm sure what you're asking for is reasonable," Lucius said, not even looking at the proposal despite it being open in front of him. "Before we go any further though, our board needs to meet to consider the proposal. Shall we schedule to meet again, say, tomorrow morning?"

"We can do that," the representative said. Immediately, the Beaumont side began to pack their belongings together. "We'll look forward to your positive response."

Right then, Bruce decided to make a move. "Before you leave, I hope it wouldn't be too bothersome if Ms. Beaumont were to meet with me privately."

That caused Andrea to freeze in her seat while some of her representatives look to each other in bafflement. None of the Wayne board members seemed all that perturbed, though Lucius was eyeing him up warily. "Umm, we do have other appointments," Andrea began.

Only to be cut off by Bruce. "I'm sure they can wait ten minutes, though I'm sure we won't need that much time. Unless you don't think my signature isn't all that important."

This time the entire room focused its attention on the man. Astonishment was on the Wayne side while the Beaumont side seemed to be panicking-all except for Andrea. She looked more like a cornered rat with her wide eyes, a hand trembling.

"Just a moment," Lucius said then before leaning in close to Bruce and harshly whispered, "What are you doing?"

"I just want to have a moment with Ms. Beaumont," Bruce whispered back calmly.

"If this is some stunt to get a date out of here, I swear I will castrate you," the dark-skinned man warned.

"Why Lucius, would I do that?" the younger man gasped dramatically. Then he got serious. "There are some unresolved matters between me and Andrea and if they want this deal to go through, she and I need to work them out."

That seemed to startle Lucius into submission. "If that's how you feel…" he trailed off uncertainly.

Returning his attention to the Beaumont brigade, Bruce said, "So, what say you, Ms. Beaumont?"

It was with great reluctance that Andrea agreed. "I suppose we can speak."

"Great! If you would follow me, there's another conference room we can use." With that, Bruce stood up and walked around the table, heading for the door. He heard Andrea follow him at a more sedate pass; it was obvious she didn't want to do this, but had no other choice.

Leading her out of the room, Bruce walked down the hall and stopped at the third door down. Opening the door, he walked in and held it open, Andrea entering before he let the door swing closed. Flicking on a light, they were greeted with the sight of a much smaller meeting room, with a long table and six chairs stationed around it. Posting himself in front of the door, Bruce let his carefree expression fade into a stoic one. "It's been awhile, Andrea."

"It has," Andrea agreed warily.

"So, are you going to keep pretending you don't know me, or do you want to make this more uncomfortable for you than it has to be?"

A spark of life appeared in the redhead's eyes. "What do you expect from me, Bruce? 'Hey, how's it going?' 'How have you been since we broke up?' Believe me, if I didn't have to be here, I wouldn't be."

"I suppose you can thank your father for that. Then again, wasn't he the one who objected to our marriage?"

Even now, Bruce could remember that blasted letter he had received shortly after his proposal. " _Too young_ ," it read. " _Need time. Daddy doesn't approve. Forget about me._ " Each one had been a knife stabbing him in the heart and it had taken quite some time to get over it.

Not giving Andrea a chance to respond to that, Bruce pressed, "How is the old man anyways? I've hardly heard about him over the years."

"He's good," Andrea shot back. "But then, I shouldn't be surprised you wouldn't know. You've been globe-trotting for the last three years."

A thought popped into the young man's head. "Oh, I see why you approached Wayne Enterprises. You were hoping to catch me still abroad so that when I got back, the deal would be already be in place." Andrea hesitated at that remark, causing Bruce to scowl. "Tell me something, Andy: was I really that bad to you that you'd want to avoid me? Or is this just how you get your kicks nowadays? Be honest, I'm a big boy; I can take it."

Andrea's hands had balled into fists and were shaking with repressed...anger? Sadness? It was tough to tell considering the woman was holding back her emotions as best she could. She hadn't been able to do that when they first dated. "You have no idea what it took for me to change my mind. Believe me, I wanted nothing more than to be living with you."

"Yet here we are." Bruce crossed his arms over his chest.

"Yes, we are." Andrea seemed to blink back unshed tears around her eyes before she went on the offensive. "Though from what I've heard, you've gotten over us pretty quickly. How many women have you dated and tossed aside? I'm shocked that Alfred hasn't set you straight on that."

"Alfred's dead."

The bluntness of his tone coupled with the news he had just delivered rendered Andrea speechless. "I…" she tried to say before her mouth gave into opening and closing like a goldfish. "I"m sorry, Bruce," she finally managed to get out mournfully. "I didn't know."

"Obviously."

"He was a good man."

"The best."

"How did it happen?"

Bruce shook his head. "Doesn't matter." He took a moment to consider his next words before he snorted. "Now that I think about this, this was a mistake. All I really wanted was closure from you, but I can see now that nothing you say can give me that. You say I moved on, but it's more like you had the moment you sent the ring back." Ignoring the pained look on Andrea's face, Bruce turned his back on her taking a step towards the door before stopping. "Don't worry, none of this will change Wayne Enterprises from approving your proposal. You can rest easy with that."

Done, Bruce raised a hand to the doorknob and grabbed it, twisting it to open the door. Before he could finish it, Andrea spoke up, her voice softer, if not regretful. "I didn't mean to hurt you, Bruce. Please know that I'm sorry."

"It's a bit late for that," he growled. "I trust you can find Susan's desk by the elevators. She can see you out of the building." And with that, Bruce pushed the door open and stepped through it, letting it close behind him. All the while he wondered what possessed him to want to talk with the redhead. Time had obviously strained what they once had into something unrecognizable. It had been too much to ask for closure.

It was time to move forward then. Reaching into his pocket, Bruce pulled out his phone. Activating it, he looked into his contacts before finding the number he wanted. Calling it, he held the phone to his ear and waited through the rings. Then, _"Zatanna speaking."_

"Hey Zana, care to meet for lunch?"

* * *

Nothing had prepared her for that.

It took everything Andrea had not to cave in on herself, but it was just enough. She had been through too much already and she couldn't let that...that anger ruin all of her hard work.

A part of her had hoped that it wouldn't have come to this point, that she would be face to face with Bruce once more. It didn't take a rocket scientist to know that the way things had ended before, he would still have some kind of anger towards it. Had things gone the way she had wanted them, business with Wayne Enterprises would have been concluded, their contract signed, and her moving on to the next deal.

How was she to know that the man who she had been so close with before would choose now of all times to return to Gotham after a three year tour around the world or whatever he had been doing? That was the case now and so she had to change her expectations.

Except Bruce hadn't been keen on letting her slip in and out like she had wanted to. That confrontation, she would admit, could have been handled better.

God, to actually see that rage. Who would have thought that someone like Bruce Wayne had that in him? Especially since the rest of the world knew him as a rather lively playboy. She on the other hand had had a...different version of him. However, there had been no anger there. Maybe some mystery, because she knew that he had never fully opened up to her. There had been no anger, that much she was sure.

Yet, a part of her felt like she deserved it.

That part...that was wrong. As she squared her shoulders, fixing up a show of strength, she refused to let all of that hold sway over her. Bruce knew nothing. Absolutely nothing. And that was fine. It was better for him to remain ignorant.

Whatever had been between them, it was gone. Another regret to add to the list and nothing more.

Leaving the conference room, she met back up with her associates, deliberately choosing to disregard Bruce's last words to her. This wasn't her first time in this building; she knew the way already.

That anger, though. Had he really been looking for closure? Or was this some kind of way for him to place guilt on her? Most likely the second one. If he had truly been looking for closure, he wouldn't have behaved this way.

Maybe she was a coward. Maybe she was trying to protect herself. Protect herself from more pain that would have and did come from meeting face to face with Bruce once again. She had been right then, she supposed, to try to complete with deal with him away. All expectations of pain had been met.

Enough of this, though. She would only be in Gotham long enough to finish business here. It shouldn't take too long.

* * *

Valestra wasn't one to be easily "spooked." Talk to anyone, and you'd know, he was anything but easily scared.

Except now he had a reason to be. First Chuckie Boy, then that bootlicker Boxy Bennett, who was going to be next? The things was, Valestra knew who was going to be next; he also knew that it was going to end at him. This wasn't no gut instinct here either.

Here was his reasoning: whenever he did any deals, he always had Chuckie and Buzz with him. So there were a lot of deals with just that criteria. Boxy, though, was only in on a few, and he had been allowed participation only because Valestra had felt that he should throw him some table scraps. There were only a handful of deals with Boxy, and a lot of them...well, either they hadn't been huge, or they ended badly. In most cases it was the former, the latter...just one case actually.

Regardless, he also heard the stories surrounding Chuckie's death. That a Batman had been responsible, had thrown him off the balcony to his death, and disappeared. With Boxy's death coming so soon, Valestra knew there was no coincidence: his people were being targeted by one of those rogue Batman wannabes. But why now? Why those two specific people? Chuckie he could kinda understand, but Boxy was one step away from being a nobody.

He suspected there may be a rat in his organization, but very few knew about that one deal gone bad. That couldn't be the reason why these killings were happening, right?

Regardless, seeing as how two of his men were dead, and that Buzz was more prone to brawn than brains, Valestra knew he needed an ace up his sleeve. Several in fact. He prayed that Buzz would fix this situation and make it go away, but Valestra didn't put his money in faith and miracles.

As he had warned Buzz earlier, he was calling in some guys, guys who had played a big role in his rise to power. If anyone had any bigger reason to make sure he stayed safe, it was them. Of that, he was sure.

Armed with his trusty pistol and an oxygen tank, the crime boss found himself seated at an expansive table and surrounded by a group of men. At least, he thought they were all men. Each and every one of them was wearing a ridiculous looking animal mask. There was one guy over there with an elephant mask, another with a horse, and then a duck right next to him. He didn't understand why they felt the need to wear those things.

However, none of them were the man that he needed to speak to. Directly across from him at the head of the table, sitting back in his seat with his hands held together on the large furniture's surface was yet another masked man. Unlike the rest in here, his mask was anything but ridiculous.

Covering his entire head, the mask bore the facade of a grinning skull, black in color, and creepy as all hell. This was in contrast to his white suit, which included a white sports jacket, white tie, and white vest. There was also a black dress shirt in there but it was hard to see from this distance.

He swallowed, wetting his dry mouth with some saliva. He didn't like doing this. He didn't like this feeling that he was selling his soul to some kind of devil, but what other choice did he have?

If only there was some other way…

"What can we go for you, Sal?" the man in the black mask asked. That slick voice was like oil, and it made him feel dirty listening to it.

"There's a problem," he stated, a hand resting on the handle of his oxygen tank. "Someone is taking our people out. First it was Chuckie Sol, then Boxy Bennett, and I believe it's only a matter of time until Buzz is targeted. If he's killed, then it's me who's next." He patted his chest to emphasize his last point.

The man in the black mask leaned forward. "It seems like you've gotten yourself into a pickle, Sal. Why come to me with something that's obviously your problem?"

Valestra gritted his teeth tightly. Condescending bastard. If only he was younger, he'd show him how to show respect around here. "Think about it," he spoke instead. "If whoever this is gets me, then everything we've worked for goes down the drain. All of it. Both of us, we-"

A cough erupted out of him, interrupting him. This was followed by a shortness of breath that only got worse with each and every second. Twisting the knob on the oxygen tank, he grabbed the oxygen mask and pressed it to his face, letting clean air enter his body. He wheezed and hacked until finally his body calmed down, the oxygen doing its work.

Once settled, he removed the mask slowly, turning the knob to turn off the flow of air. "Sorry," he muttered. He had gotten too passionate back there; it made him ignore the warning signs his body was screaming at him.

"There's no need to be sorry here, Sal. We all know how fragile your health is," the man in the black mask dismissed.

Condescending bastard…

"As I was...saying. We're practically in charge of Gotham now, with some exceptions. But if something happens to me, how long do you think it'll be before the McKillens or Thorne move in? Hell, if Bertinelli has the guts, he might try-"

A laugh burst from the man in the black mask, the rest of the room following suit. "Sal, Sal, Sal...you are one paranoid bastard if you think Bertinelli has the spine to do anything, like take a piss. He needed Maroni to hold him by the hand and tell him what to do. But I agree about the McKillens and Thorne. Those bitches are too wild for my tastes, and Thorne is too...what is the word I'm looking for?" He turned to the rest of the table.

"Stuck up?"

"Full of himself?"

"Naive as hell?"

"Unworthy of his position of power."

"Too many words there, Elephant Man," the man in the black mask replied. "Stick to what you're good at, remembering things. Now where were we? Right, Thorne is no option for us. You're right about that Sal."

"Tell it to me straight, Black Mask. What do you intend to do about this?" Valestra demanded, doing his best to remain calm. He'd already had one hacking fit.

"Relax, Sal, you're in good hands," Black Mask said. "As if I'd let anything happen to you. You're my main man. My number one. Of course I'll help."

Valestra paused. "Really?"

"Sal, you need to learn to trust people. But don't you worry your wrinkled little face off. There's no way anybody's gonna lay a finger on you."

Assurance, Valestra knew what that was. Coming from a man like Black Mask, though, assurance was not necessarily welcome. There was that feeling of him selling his soul once more, but what other choice did he have? It was between this or losing any legacy he might leave behind.

Gotham wasn't the place it used to be. If he was to leave behind a legacy, it didn't matter what he had to do to do that.

"You won't regret keeping me around," he said in answer. He couldn't show any gratitude because masks were the only thing that differentiated between these people and people like him. Gratitude was a sign of weakness, and Valestra was in no position to show any.

"I'm sure of that," Black Mask replied.

"So what's your plan? How are you going to nail this son of a bitch?" he asked. He needed details here. Something, anything, that would give him some kind of security.

"I have some ideas. Don't want to share any just in case, you know, someone messes it up," Black Mask told him, tapping the side of his masked head. "All you need to do is sit back and relax, Sal. Everything's going to be taken care of. In fact, we'll be sharing margaritas in the Bahamas, everything's that taken care of. I know what I'm doing, and everybody here knows what they're doing. Whoever this is who's killing your boys, and since your boys are also my boys, they're going to get what's coming to them."

For a second, Valestra really wanted to believe him. It sound so nice, and despite the slick voice, it offered so much. But he knew better. In their line of business, collateral damage was a reality. So long as he wasn't that collateral damage, he'd take what he could get.

"Thank you. Now I need to take care of some other business," Valestra stated as he pushed his seat back and stood up. Was a little bit of a struggle standing, another sign that his body was weakening with every day.

"You do that. I'll take care of everything," Black Mask promised.

If only there was some other way.

* * *

Once Sal was gone, it was down to business for the False Face Society.

"Now that grandpa's gone to bed, let's start talking some adult shit," Black Mask jokingly ordered. "What's going on with Operation Dread?"

A man wearing a dog masked cleared his throat. "We're waiting for the next shipment to arrive. The missiles are ready to given their payload. However, we're going to need a few more delivery men, if you get my meaning."

"I get it," Black Mask said. Turning towards the Elephant Man, he looked pointedly at him. "How's everything going on your end?"

"We are almost finished perfecting the final product," Elephant Man answered in his deep bass of a voice. "There is a problem with materials. One of the, ahem, deliveries was delayed due to bad weather up north. We should be getting it sometime tomorrow."

"There have been an awful lot of delays," a woman wearing a bull mask pointed out. The Bull Lady is what Black Mask had nicknamed her.

"This is something that cannot be rushed, I'm afraid. Fortunately, once we have tomorrow's delivery, we'll be able to mass produce the concoction in little time. We'll have more than enough for Dread, this I promise you."

"You make an awful lot of promises," Bull Lady rebutted.

"You will get us the stuff in time, right?" Black Mask cut in. His tone was warning, demanding that he get a good answer.

"Yes," Elephant Man answered. "In fact, if you are curious, I have a sample with me," he added, pulling a vial from a pocket and holding it up for all to see. "You will find that this is much more potent and longer lasting than the previous batches."

Black Mask held out a hand and his little council was quick to take action. The pig masked man beside Elephant Man took the vial gently and passed it on to the cat-masked gentleman beside him. Pig-Mask did a little oink, as he did so, Black Mask wondering if the guy was taking this whole mask thing a little too seriously.

From person to person, the vial was passed up to the skull-masked man, who eyed the liquid with the glass container critically. He wasn't any scientist, and the clear liquid looked like water to him, but if what Elephant Man said was true, this shit could really fuck someone up. Now he trusted Elephant Man enough that when the guy told him that something was strong, it was really strong. However, the delays needed to be addressed.

"No more delays. I don't care if there's a flat tire or a car bomb, you keep up your end of things," he ordered, as he slipped the vial into the pocket of his sports jacket. Turning towards the other side of the table, "So we're going to need more delivery boys, hm? Fine, find me a few more, but make sure they can carry the payload. If they can't, don't even think about pinching them, you get me?"

There were nods from the row of masked individuals, no spoken answer needed. Good. Say what you want about a bunch of people in suits, or in Elephant Man's case a turtleneck, they knew how to get shit done. That's what put them above your common street thug. Some muscle doesn't hurt at all, but when you want to pull off something big, like, taking over the criminal underworld of Gotham City in its entirety, you needed brains. Lots and lots of brains.

Especially when the underworld was a stepping stone to bigger and better things, like all of Gotham.

"Then I'll let you get back to your day jobs. We're on a timetable, and incompetence won't be tolerated around here. Do your jobs, and when Operation Dread is over, we're going to be living like kings, and queens, for the rest of our natural lives."

"What about Valestra?" the Bull Lady asked.

Black Mask chuckled. "He's almost outlived his usefulness. Don't worry about him; I'll be taking care of that matter personally."

Meeting adjoined and Black Mask was retreating to his personal abode. Things were working quite nicely. Setting up Valestra as the face of the False Face Society was genius. Everyone thought they were a legit crime family, and the old fart really thought he was the guy in charge. Black Mask, though, had taken notes from the best and was orchestrating this whole thing from behind the scenes.

Not for long though. Soon enough, everybody was going to know who he was. They'd be screaming it, in fact.

Until then, he had to keep focus on this project. If his little pawns did what they were supposed to, things would be smooth sailing. Didn't matter that Gotham had a bunch of vigilantes running about. None of them had caught on to him yet, and it would remain that way until he decided they needed to.

Entering the place he called the place he slept, he loosened his tie and slid off his white sports jacket. Flipping a light switch, he tossed the jacket onto a nearby couch as his eyes adjusted to the light Yeah, time to get all casual and—

Shit!

He pulled the gun from his shoulder holster, pointing it at the figure that was hiding in the dark parts of the room.

Scoffing, he put the gun away. "Stop doing that!" he barked. "Next time I might shoot your ass!"

The figure didn't reply. Strong, silent type that one. What a freaking hassle.

"Silent treatment, huh? Go ahead, I'm used to it," he grumbled as he stalked towards the far wall. There his liquor cabinet was, and he was going to need the drink. "So you got two of them," he called out as he opened a small, cabinet door, searching for the scotch. "Good work. I hear the police think one of those fake Batman guys did it."

Aha! There it was! Pulling out the bottle of scotch, he snagged a couple glasses while he was at it. Offering a glass to his midnight visitor, "Care for some booze?"

The dark and scary figure didn't budge, the grey metal mask giving nothing from beneath the gray hood.

Shrugging, "Your loss," he commented as he poured himself a glass. He was the kind of guy who liked his scotch dry, no rocks. Ice only watered the stuff down. "So, two more left to go, eh?"

No answer. Like he mentioned, he was getting used to this.

"Well, in case you were curious, Salvatore is scared shitless. He knows what's up, even if he doesn't want to admit it," Black Mask continued the one-sided conversation. "Have to give you props, nice little costume you got going there. The schmucks out there think you're really one of those nutjobs out there. Maybe you might want to go all out, say you're the ghost of the Batman or something. Really freak them out there."

"What do you want?" the masked figure demanded in that oh so ominous voice.

"I'm just keeping up my end of our deal," Black Mask quipped back as he swaggered back to the couch. With one handle, he lowered the jaw portion of his mask so that he could get some sweet alcohol into his mouth. "Here, I have something for ya."

Reaching into the pocket of his sports jacket, he pulled out the vial that Elephant Man had brought with him tonight. Strolling over to the masked individual, he held it out.

"Add this to your little smoke trick. Give it a little kick," he advertised. "I know that you want those bastards to really scream. Well, this will do the trick. See how those big, strong men are after they get a whiff of it."

Blank, white eyes, peered at the vial for a moment, slightly irritating the leader of the False Face Society with the inaction. Then, a gray-colored, gloved hand reached out from the gray cape and took the vial.

Taking a step back, Black Mask gave the figure a critical look. "You know, you really need to give yourself a name. All the guys in this city who wear masks have them. I mean, I need to call you something, so that I know who you are and everything. Can't call you the Ghost of Christmas Future all the time."

He thought he was getting a deadpanned stare there, but how could you tell when this person was wearing a mask that didn't show any emotion?

"Alright, the next guy has something going on in the industrial section of town. That's where you're gonna find him. There, happy?"

The masked figure moved around him, heading for the door. Apparently, they didn't think he was worth using that smoke trick on.

Hey, wait a minute…

"Ooh! Ooh! I know!" he spoke, snapping his fingers. "Phantasm! What do you think of that one?"

The newly-dubbed Phantasm looked over their shoulder at him before slipping out of the room, not making a single sound.

That wasn't a no he hadn't heard.

"Yeah, that's what I'll call you," he chuckled to himself as he took another sip of his scotch.


	11. Worst Case Scenario

Worst Case Scenario

He had given a lot of thought to this. He wasn't kidding about that either, he had done a lot more thinking than he would have preferred. Now, don't use all that to think he was some kind of stupid lout, because he wasn't. He was more action oriented; but when it came to something that could possibly change where he was going to be in life, you can be damn sure he was going to really think about it.

If it was true that Chuckie boy had been whacked by one of those Batman wannabes, then it was his responsibility to give a reply. Those masked maniacs were going to regret picking a fight with the Valestras, or his name wasn't Buzz Bronsky.

So how was he going to avenge Chuckie's death? Well, by doing a good ol' eye for an eye. That meant he needed to find one of those mooks that were roaming about. Not too hard to do. If they had some weird view of justice or whatever, then the bastard ought to come checking in on a break-in of sorts, right?

That's what he figured. It didn't take long for him to find out a place that was under police suspicions. Pigs thought that the place was a front for something, which it was, but they needed evidence and hadn't gotten any yet. At least, that was as far as he knew.

Anyway, once he was in the place, he knew that this was the place. A lot of cover here. Bunch of machinery, some crates littering the floor as well as stacked on top of one another, and up above some windows to let the sun in. Also to cut down on the electric bill in the middle of the day.

Anybody trying to copy the Batman wouldn't be able to resist breaking in through those windows. Made this place all the better.

There was going to need to be some set-up, though. And some bribes. Not hard to do the bribes, and the security guards were more than willing to call it a night early for the kind of cash he was throwing around. A couple guys were turning off the security system and destroying any recordings of them showing up. Meanwhile, he had given the word for his boys to get everything ready in this very big, manufacturing room.

"Make sure we got a big opening right here," he ordered, gesturing to the space he was standing in the middle of. Checking above his head to see the ceiling windows right above him made this all the more right. "Pull whatever you can to the side, make sure it can hide us."

Nearby, a couple of his boys were bringing in a large, rectangular box. Ah, the-

"Careful with that!" he barked when one of his boys almost lost his grip. "That's a Buzz Special in there. You better bet you don't want that to go boom with you so close."

Could practically smell the sweat coming from them, but at least they were going to be more careful as they took the box out of sight. He didn't think he was going to need it, but hey, you never knew. He would rather come in here armed to the teeth, able to nuke this place if he had to, so long as he could kill someone before this was over.

Heh, Chuckie always saw himself as the brains of this operation. Oh yeah? Check this out, you dead son of a bitch.

"Always was a loser," he said under his breath at the memory of his old colleague.

Then, out loud so that everyone could hear him, "Alright boys, this looks good enough. Now, you know your parts, what you need to do. It's time to make vigilante-ing or whatever you call it bad for your health. You guys," he pointedly looked at a small group of four men who were dressed up as stereotypical gangsters, all suits, ties, and fedoras, "you know what you gotta do. Get into the site manager's office, get to work in there, and make sure you're noticed."

"Um, Mr. Bronsky, what if the cops decide to show up?" one of the men asked, tugging at his necktie.

"Don't worry about it. We'll take care of any pigs who are too curious for their own good. All you need to do is worry about costumed weirdos," he replied. "Remember, boys, we pull this off, we write our own tickets from here on out. Now let's get some Batmen."

* * *

The cable was pulled back into the grapple gun with a sharp whirling. Reaching the top of the building, Batman set a heavy boot on its ledge and stepped forward, coming to a stop a moment later. Releasing his hold around Zatanna's waist, he let the dark-haired woman pull away from him before he moved towards another edge of the building, looking over the streets and skyline.

They were running late on patrol. With Zatanna insisting on coming along, their movements were slowed due to her not having a grapple and being too unfamiliar to use it. Though he preferred she stay with the car, the magician had been adamant that she wasn't going to be sitting around listening to the police radio while he ran around in the city. It also wasn't possible for her to be transporting herself to various spots in Gotham as the vigilante made his rounds, since that would serve to tire her out. Obviously their situation wasn't ideal, and to be honest it was making Batman grouchy.

"How much further do we have to go?" Zatanna asked as she walked up behind him, coming to a stop behind the dark-clad man's left shoulder. "While I love being close to you, my arms are getting tired from hanging on you like a Zana-sized necklace."

Batman was tempted to check a clock; unfortunately there weren't any visible from where they were, so there was no telling what time it was. Perhaps another hour of this would make Zatanna willingly stay with the car. That was a thought.

No, she would see through that attempt easily. It seemed he was going to have to make some changes in their daily routine. "The next time we're in the cave, I'm going to give you a crash course in using a grapple," the Dark Knight said.

"Wow, you know just how to make a girl feel special, you know that?"

"I'm sure that's why you're still with me," Batman deadpanned.

He could practically feel Zatanna's smirk on him. "I'll admit your tall, dark, mysterious, bad boy schtick has some appeal, but sooner or later that'll wear off. I hope you have something more promising after that."

Something caught the vigilante's eyes, stopping him from responding. Posture stiffening, Batman stared at a building across the street from them. Apparently Zatanna noticed his change as she didn't continue their conversation, instead drawing closer to him as she looked in the direction he was. "See something?" she whispered.

Pointing a finger, Batman answered, "Lights." In the windows, beams of light were moving around chaotically. The were thin and circular, so that indicated flashlights. Considering the rest of the building was dark, that meant someone was somewhere they shouldn't be, looking for something that wasn't theirs to take.

Corporate espionage at its finest.

However, the vigilante couldn't help but notice just how chaotic the search was. It was more like someone was just waving their flashlight around instead of actively searching, which the light beams would be more sedate and slow in their movements. There was something wrong with this.

"So what's the plan?" Zatanna asked. There was a pause before, "Aside from you crashing in like a maniac and me being your backup that is."

The corner of the dark-clad man's mouth twitched up. "That plan's been working for us so far. Why stop a good thing?"

"Uhh, because that's boring and I didn't come out here to be-" The magician stopped. "No, we've talked about this. A lot. I mean, really a lot. You know how I feel so quit playing dumb."

"Of course," he acknowledged. "If this were some robbery in progress, or a chase, I would gladly involve you. Problem is I don't know the situation in the building from where we're standing and I'm not sending you inside unaware of the dangers."

"Aww, you do care."

Batman tore his eyes away from the building to look in the woman's teasing blue eyes. "I'll be going in to determine what we're up against. You'll stay here and be ready for when I need you."

Zatanna gave him a disapproving look, shifting her weight to one leg as the other bent at the knee, her hands resting on her hips. "So it's fine for you to put yourself in danger and not me? I'm not some damsel that needs protecting, you know."

"I'm wearing body armor," the Dark Knight pointed out. "Is your jacket about to stop bullets?"

She frowned. "Well, no-"

"So that means I'm going in and you're waiting here." Batman turned away from the dark-haired woman, activating the electric current in his gauntlet. "Keep your comm. link on," he said before launching himself off the roof ledge and into the air.

Faintly behind him, he heard Zatanna mutter, "He does that every time, damn it."

Reaching for his cape, the vigilante grabbed the cloth and felt it stiffen into its glider form. Immediately he was gliding through the air, angling his flight towards the light-revealing windows. Though the odd behavior of the lights was still on his mind, he was committed now. He'd be finding out the threat level in three...two…

Leaning back, the dark-clad man swung his legs forward, releasing his grip on the cape and feeling it go limp against his back. A second later his feet collided with the window, shattering the glass as he flew into a room, landing hard on the wooden floor. A quick glance around told him he was in a spacious office, the furniture of modern decor. A few steps away stood four men in trenchcoats and hats, all of them staring at the dark-clad man like deers caught in headlights.

Then one of them snapped out of his daze and clumsily shot a hand to his coat to pull out a weapon. "It's one of those freaks!" he shouted.

Instantly, Batman launched himself at the alert man, shooting his hands out just in time to catch the man's withdrawing arm. Stopping the movement, Batman immediately lunged at his opponent, shooting his left elbow forward as he twisted to a side, bashing his elbow into the man's face. The man jerked to a side as spit flew from his mouth. Following up the blow, Batman dropped his raised arm and drew his other one back before throwing his balled hand, his fist smashing into his foe's face. The force of the punch knocked the man off his feet and sent him careening into the wall, knocking him out cold.

Sure the man was out, the vigilante turned his attention to his friends, only to see the last one disappearing through the doorway to the office. Eyes narrowed, Batman cautiously moved to the threshold, pausing there long enough to pull out a batarang. Ready, the dark-clad man shot through the opening, arm raised and shuriken held high...only to see the three men ram into the door at the end of the hall, forcing it open and disappearing into the room beyond.

So, these men weren't all that brave. Odd, but it wasn't completely unusual. Dropping his arm, Batman walked briskly down the corridor, reaching the door and pushing it open. He soon found himself in a stairwell, the sounds of clopping feet bouncing off the walls of the enclosed space. Looking over the railing, he watched as the fleeing men dashed down the steps several at a time. They were nearly towards the bottom, which told the vigilante these men were more interested in getting away than actually fighting.

Grabbing onto the railing, Batman pushed down on it and leapt up, swinging his legs over it and out into open air. Releasing his grip, he began falling down towards the bottom floor, his hands reaching out to his cape and taking a hold of it and holding the cloth out as much as he could. This caused his cape to form a parachute and slowed his descent until he landed on the ground, a jolt running up his legs to protest the sudden stop.

Moving once more, the vigilante shoved open the door at the bottom of the stairwell, finding himself in what appeared to be a large room, stacks of crates piling up on top of each other. He caught sight of the men rushing between two columns of boxes, which prompted him to pulling out a bat-shaped shuriken and send it whirling through the air. The dark-clad man's aim rang true as the projectile hit the last man on the back of his knee, forcing it to give out and the man to cry in pain before collapsing onto the floor.

That caused the other two men to slow their pace and look back at their fallen comrade. They stared for a split-second before running once more. That was alright; Batman only needed one of them. Silently, he walked towards the fallen man, who was clutching his knee and writhing on the ground.

Reaching the man, Batman knelt down and grabbed him by his collar, hauling him up and staring him down with his blank, white eyes. His captive had quit whining and stared with wide eyes at the dark-clad man. "What are you doing here?" the vigilante growled.

Then, out of the blue, the man's pained and fear-stricken face twisted with a grin. "You fell for it."

Before Batman could ask what that meant, he heard the sound of a cocking hammer, several in fact. Dropping the man to the ground, the vigilante twisted around in time to see a man with a gun standing in the gap between the crates. Now that he actually looked, he noticed there were several more forming a circle around him, each with an armed man pointing a gun right at him.

He'd walked right into a trap.

Surrounded on all sides, it Batman all of two seconds to realize he was royally screwed up. It had been a good idea that he hadn't led Zana into this mess and as much he loathed to do it, he needed he...he needed hellll…

"A little help here," he growled into his communicator device.

Batman wasn't sure what made Zatanna do what she did and he was more than willing to let it stay that way, but a moment later a bright light suddenly flashed all around him. Thanks to his lens, his eyes were protected; as for the other men, they let out cries as their eyes were burned from the flash.

And before any of them could start shooting blindly, Batman pulled out his grapple gun and aimed up at the ceiling, firing it and feeling the line go tant an instant later. Hitting the retraction button, he shot up into air, disengaging the grapple seconds later and allowing his momentum to continue carrying higher and higher. He was able to land on one of the stacks of crates and looked down, seeing all of the cringing men covering their eyes, their weapons pointed to the ground.

Placing his grapple back in its pouch, Batman took a step forward and dropped off the box. Seconds later, his feet landed on the shoulders of one of the armed men, the full force of the vigilante's weight and speed causing him to collapse into a heap on the floor with a pained shout. Hands at his belt, Batman pulled out a shuriken in either hand and threw them to either side of him. Glancing to his left then the right and back, he saw his batarangs collide with the temples of both men there, knocking them out cold.

Unfortunately, he was standing in one of the gaps between the boxes due to his landing on one of the men, thus exposing him to sight. The other men were beginning to recover the sight too as one of them shouted, "Waste him!"

Immediately, Batman shot to his right, taking cover behind the stack of crates, just as gunfire rang out. The blasts were deafening as they sounds bounced off the walls, echoing throughout the room to make the gunfire louder. Pieces of wood splintered off of the wooden boxes, pelting the vigilante as he crouched down to the ground to minimize his chances of getting hit.

"Hold your fire!" a voice shouted, one that was panicked the vigilante was quick to note. The gunfire stopped at the command though, which wasn't necessarily a good thing. "Now, Bat-freak," the same voice called out, prompting the Dark Knight to peek around his cover. There, in the gap directly across from him stood a large man in a trench coat and hat. In his hands was what was best described as a grenade launcher and he had it pointed right towards the dark-clad man. "Say hello to my little friend!"

"Hell," Batman cursed.

A loud whoosh was made as a grenade was fired from the weapon, the cylindrical explosive flying through the air. Leaping to his left, Batman dove to the ground behind another stack of crates, one arm covering his head as the other pulled his cape over the rest of his body. An explosion rang out, the heat of the blast licking at the vigilante as pieces of wood were flung all over the room. Another loud whoosh signaled another grenade being fired, but unfortunately there wasn't anything for Batman to do as it exploded in front of the stack he hid behind. Thankfully the boxes took the brunt of the explosion, though he couldn't help but wince as large pieces of broken wood stabbed at his side and a hotter heat scorched him. Taking a peek around his arm, he was dismayed to find the crates at the top of the stack leaning backwards and then falling down towards him.

With a growl, Batman pushed his legs down on the ground hard, pressing his arms down to make him do and awkward lunge forward. Grace be damn as he landed back on the ground clear from the crash of the large box right where he'd been laying.

"Ha!" the large man laughed. "Not so tough, are ya rodent?" Looking to the man, Batman glared at him. "Now get on your feet," the man ordered. "Show me you can die like a man."

Slowly, Batman pushed himself up until he got on his feet, his cape falling over his body to conceal it from sight. Unfortunately, he was out in the open, his only potential cover being yet another stack of boxes to his right, though this man with the grenade launcher would assuredly blow it up too if he tried. Taking in this new opponent, the Dark Knight couldn't help but notice the double chin the man had, something about it being familiar.

And then it hit him. "Bronsky," he growled.

"Oh, you've heard of me," Bronsky gloated, a smirk on his face. "Not surprised really. I'm famous in these parts, kinda like the guy you're trying to copy. But unlike you-"

Suddenly, large doors behind Bronsky slid open. Armed men poured into the room, coming to a stop behind the large man, all confidently staring the vigilante down. "-I've got friends," Bronksy finished.

This...this was bad. Glancing around, Batman figured there were twenty to thirty men here, all of them armed to the teeth and were aiming their guns right at him. It didn't help that they had distance on their side. While he did have armor on, the vigilante doubted it could take the hundreds of bullets that were undoubtedly about to be pumped into him. Unless Zatanna did something really damn quick, things were not going to-

 _Vrrrrrroooooooommmmm_

Batman frowned along with all other other men. If the Dark Knight wasn't mistaken, that was the sound of a motorcycle engine and it sounded as if it were getting louder. Suddenly, the sound of shattered glass filled the room, causing everyone there to jerk their heads to a side.

Well, this just went from bad to worse. Of all the people that had to make a grand entrance by crashing through windows, it had to be the so-called Birds of Prey. Two motorcycles landed on the ground, screeching to a stop, Huntress seated on one and Black Canary and Katana on the other.

"Hey boys," Huntress called out, a hint of arrogance in her voice. "Mind if we join the party?"

* * *

Loud pants cut through the air as Buzz thundered down the hallway, heading for the loading docks. His head was killing him, his body was screaming at him to slow down, and someone was after his ass though how far back they were, he did not know.

What he did know was that everything had went to shit the moment those bitches showed up.

There he was with thirty of his best guys, all staring down the Bat-freak wannabe, and ready to turn him into Swiss cheese when the Bat groupies broke through the windows. Then one of them opened her mouth, this loud sound...it hurt just thinking about it!

And then his boys were being pulverized. He had managed to pull himself away from the action, but what he saw, now that he was really looking…

That Bat-wannabe was kicking ass with those bitches. Now, he wasn't one of those Chink fistfighters, but even he could tell this guy knew what he was doing. He was taking his boys down, one after the other, and they weren't doing a damn thing about it.

It had been time to get the hell out of there.

How could this have gone all wrong? It didn't make any sense! He had the bastard! He fucking had him! And now he was running away, like either of those losers Chuckie and Boxy would.

Christ, he was getting sick of this fucking headache!

Pushing past a set of doors, Buzz found himself on the loading dock, a wall made of empty weapon containers to his right. Yes, empty, because all the toys inside them were supposed to be used on the circus going on back there. How could so much firepower do nothing, huh? Tell him that!

Wait. Footsteps! Someone else was here!

Good thing he still had one gun on him. He wasn't going to let any of those freaks back there take him alive!

"Come out! I hear ya!" he bellowed, swinging his gun from side to side as he searched for whoever else was here. "You're not getting me! I'm not going to prison!"

Something moving in the corner of his eye caught his attention. "I see you!" he shouted as he spun to his left.

Where the hell had that cloud of smoke come from? It hadn't been there when he had arrived. He fired a couple shots into the smoke that seemed to keep coming from who knew where. Maybe he would hit something…

Were his eyes starting to play tricks on him? He wasn't sure but he could swear that he could see someone in that smoke, their silhouette growing with each second. Shit, it had to be that Bat-freak! The bastard had caught up with him!

No more warnings, no more threats, he unloaded his entire clip at the shadowy figure. Even when his gun stopped firing, he kept pulling the trigger. Sweat began to bead up on his forehead as he saw that the person was still moving, coming closer and closer to him.

"What the hell…?" he gasped.

"Buzz Bronsky," a deep voice stated, causing him to jump.

"Who are you?" he demanded, doing his best not to show any fear. He reached into a pocket and pulled out another clip. Quickly, he unloaded the empty one and slammed in the full one, ready to shoot another round of lead at this asshole.

The smoke seemed to part, revealing a hooded figure with a skull for a face. Visible from the cape, a bladed right hand peeked out.

"Your angel of death awaits," the masked bastard said.

"Like hell!" Buzz snarled as he aimed his reloaded gun at the masked maniac.

Before he could pull the trigger and fill the bastard full of lead, he had closed the distance between them. The bladed hand slashed, knocking the gun out of his hand and leaving him defenseless. With his other, gloved hand, the masked man let loose more of that smoke straight into his face, causing Buzz to cough as the stuff entered his lungs.

He stumbled back, one hand holding his throat while the other fanned the air in his face, trying to clear away that damn smoke. What was he trying to do, gas him to death or something?

Hold on, something wasn't right. Here he was, no gun in his hand, eyes closed as he gasped for air...and the bastard attacking him hadn't done anything else. This made absolutely no fucking sense. Well, he was going to show him that he should have taken the chance while he had it because no one made a fool of Buzz Bronsky. No one.

As he got a hold of his breathing, he cracked opened his eyes, trying to find this crazy asshole. He didn't have to look long, but what he saw didn't look anything like what the guy looked like earlier.

The masked and hooded man looked like he was...wavering. Not like he was changing his mind but physically wavering like some kind of freaky ghost. The face was...oh god. Oh Jesus ever loving Christ, what the...what was that?!

Fire seemed to flare from the eyes, and a mouth full of jagged teeth grinned at him like he was dinner. And...and…and suddenly he was so much taller...and getting even more...taller…

A clawed hand reached out for him, Buzz screaming out in horror as he jumped back. "Get away from me!" he cried out as he turned around and tried to run, only to almost slam into all the empty boxes that had been stacked on top of one another. For some reason, they looked so much older, as if they had been here for years even.

The creepy smoke began to lick at his feet, sending a chill up his spine. His eyes darted downward, then widened as snakes were wrapping around his ankles, hissing at him as they slowly slithered up his legs.

"No! Get off!" He began shaking his legs, trying to get the damn things off of him. Losing his footing, Buzz fell to the concrete flooring of the loading dock, giving an "oof" as he caught himself on his hands and knees. He jerked his hands off the ground as he could have sworn he felt something scaly move against them.

Catching sight of his gun laying only a few feet away, Buzz lunged for it, reaching out as if it was his only lifeline. If he could grab it, he'd be able to blow away some of these bastards. God damn it, he hated snakes!

Just as he was about to grab his key to salvation, he pulled away at the last second with a cry as something that looked like an enormous spider dived at his hand, landing on top of the weapon and hissing at him in hunger.

This couldn't be real! It couldn't! But wait, where was…

Remembering that he wasn't alone here with all these animals, he turn his head all about, searching for the man in the smoke only to find...nothing. The smoky mist was going away too, and with it the snakes and spider thing and everything else. Like someone had flipped a switch, ever nightmarish thing around him was gone, though his heart was threatening to burst out of his chest at any second.

Had...had he just imagined all this shit? Was it all inside his head? Maybe...no, it had to be. He wasn't crazy. He...he had no idea what was going on anymore.

He felt a shadow fall over him, and when he twisted his head around, he screamed as all the emptied weapon containers collapsed on top of him, burying and pinning him under their weight. Only one of his arms, his shoulders, and his head managed to escape, but now he was stuck under these heavy sons of bitches. You'd think they'd be lighter without all the guns and grenade launchers in them.

He froze as he saw the smoke return, and right in front of him, the masked bastard had returned, looking down at him with flaming eyes.

"You always were a loser, Mr. Bronsky," the nightmare spoke as he raised his bladed arm up for the killing strike.

"No! Don't!" Buzz cried out as the long blade stabbed down at him and into his forehead.

* * *

Batman burst through the doors, finding himself on the warehouse's docking area. The fight with Bronsky's men had gone in his favor after the arrival of the Birds of Prey. Though not happy about their presence, he couldn't deny they had bailed him out, so he was willing to let their continued operation slide for the moment.

However, there were some issues that warranted his concern. For instance, that high-pitched scream of Black Canary's. That was a power with serious implications if the blonde woman misused it in the slightest. She would need further inspection once the vigilante finished with Bronsky.

Speaking of which, that was who the Dark Knight was chasing. He had caught sight of the large man fleeing the warehouse when his ambush hadn't gone his way. Slightly detained by a couple thugs trying to beat his brains in with a chain and club, Batman had given chase once he was able to.

The sight of the docks, however, caused him to slow to a stop. Lying in front of him was a pile of military-style crates with no telling what was inside them. At the bottom of the pile was Bronsky, his head, shoulders, and one arm the only parts of him not underneath a crate. Most concerning was the puddle of blood growing from his head.

Cautiously, the vigilante approached the man, steering clear of the blood and kneeling down next to the man's prone body. Pressing two fingers against Bronsky's neck, Batman searched for the carotid pulse, finding none. Bronsky had been murdered and recently too if the warmth of his body was any indication.

There was a slight movement in the corner of his eye that instantly drew the dark-clad man's attention. Jerking his head up, Batman caught sight of a trail of smoke wafting around the corner of the warehouse. Instantly, he shot up onto his feet and charged to the building corner, dashing around it and through the smoke. A familiar stench filled his nostrils as he parted through the dissipating smoke, the odor causing a red flag to pop up in his head. However, that thought was pushed aside.

Several buildings down and across the street was a person dressed in black and gray, a cloud of smoke trailing after them. A second later the figure reached the corner of the block and disappeared behind another building corner. Reaching to his belt, Batman retrieved his grapple gun and fired it the roof of the building, feeling the line go tant a moment later. Hitting the retraction button, he shot into the air, the wind battering his body and causing his cape to whip around behind him.

Reaching the building's ledge, Batman disengaged the grapple claw and hurried towards the left side of the roof. Looking over it, he looked left and right, up and down the street for his mysterious figure. Disappointingly, he didn't see anyone.

Activating his comm, he spoke out loud, "Z, did you see anyone exit the warehouse from the docks?"

There was a brief pause before Zatanna answered, _"Sorry, I'm on the wrong side of the building for that. I haven't seen anyone leave."_

 _Damn it._ "There's been another murder," he told the dark-haired woman. "And I caught sight of someone fleeing the scene. Unfortunately they've disappeared."

" _Who was it that was killed?"_

"Buzz Bronsky, a mid-tier mobster." Batman paused. Though it wasn't unusual for mobsters to be killed, such was the nature of their profession, there was something wrong with this scene. He needed to examine Bronsky's body for further information. "Be on alert. I'm going to do a quick examination."

" _Roger that."_

Activating the electric current in his gauntlet, Batman leapt off the building's ledge and grabbed his cape, causing it to stiffen into glider mode. Angling his flight, he glided around the building and headed back to the warehouse, landing on the docks moments later. Moving towards Bronsky's body, he began circling the body, making sure to catch every angle. Once done, he kneeled down next to the victim and used both hands to move the head, immediately noticing the stab wound on the forehead. It was deep, about two...three inches in length, the edges of the wound smooth except towards the bottom, where it became more jagged. That indicated the weapon had a serrated edge.

Next the vigilante took in Bronsky's face, seeing it twisted in fright. Whoever it was the large man encountered, he had been afraid of them. Carefully, Batman lowered the head down, placing it back face first on the ground just like it had been. Further examination of the visible portions of Bronsky's body didn't show any other wounds. This required further investigation.

Standing up, Batman grabbed one of the crates and began to move it, trying to get a better sight at the rest of Bronsky's body. So naturally it was right then that Huntress, Black Canary,and Katana came barreling in on him, arms wrapped around the crate and looking for the rest of the world like a deer in the headlights.

 _Oh Hell._


	12. To Find a Killer

To Find a Killer

Situated on the desk in front of him were three files. Each held the contents of an open case, each about a murder, and each had yet to be solved.

That wasn't all they had in common, but the connections that existed between them had Gordon's full attention.

All three were involved with organized crime. All three held varying degrees of importance in Gotham's underworld. All three happened to have connections with one crime family that currently held a lot of power right now.

He didn't need it spelled out for him. These men were being targeted. By whom, well, there was a theory running around that one of the local vigilantes was responsible. One of the Batmen to be precise, a copycat that was taking things much further than the law allowed.

Gordon knew there was more to this, though. Why target three men who had a lot of involvement with the Valestra crime family? It was a connection that was obvious, even a greenhorn would pick up on it. That meant someone had a score to settle; randomness was not a factor.

Worst of all, someone was committing these murders while hiding behind the veil of vigilantism. If whoever it was was as well-equipped as his predecessor, they were going to be in for a fight.

So what was he going to do about it?

At that moment, Sarah came in with her usual offering of coffee. Without taking his eyes off the files, he took a sip of the hot beverage. Time to let some caffeine perk him up.

"Well?" Sarah asked as she took a seat.

"Three men, all connected to the same crime family. A killer-"

"Or killers," Sarah slipped in.

"-or killers going after some high ranking members of the mob. And there's no clue as to what the motive is," Gordon finished. Prying his eyes away from his desk and the open case files, he looked Sarah in the eye gravely. "We have a possible link to one of the who knows how many vigilantes in this city."

"Due to the sighting at the first murder," Sarah theorized.

Gordon nodded. "If it's the same killer, they've been getting better at not being spotted. That scares me because whoever is responsible is improving, evolving. How long before this person or persons decides to turn their attention away from the mob and to everyone else?"

"Do you think it could be one of those copycats, or the real thing like the rumors on the streets say?" Sarah asked.

"It's not him. It's...not his style," he answered, leaning back into his seat and taking another sip. Then rolling his eyes at himself, he added, "It couldn't be him anyway. He's dead."

"So how will we proceed with this?" Sarah questioned. "From all appearances, the murderer or murderers are working their way up. First Charles Sol, one of the right hand men of Sal Valestra, then Buzz Bronsky. Bennett is stuck right between them, a downgrade in rank and position, but I don't think it was random. Maybe he's a red herring, meant to throw us off so that we think it'll be someone else in the organization?"

"Then the murderer may be brave or stupid enough to go after Valestra himself," Gordon concluded.

"We could try to head him or her off with the boss," Sarah suggested.

"That'll mean having to work with the new face of organized crime in this city," Gordon pointed out with a grimace, disgusted with the words he spoke.

"Putting a man in need of protection into our custody is not a bad thing. Maybe we could use this," Sarah suggested.

Gordon raised an eyebrow. "Go on."

"We offer Valestra police protection in exchange for him turning in any evidence that could incriminate any and all of the men under him," Sarah explained. "Essentially, he'll be turning himself in and we can use this to dismantle his organization, take it out of play."

The corner of Gordon's lips twitched upward. "That's a little underhanded, isn't it?"

"This is a man who uses such tactics every day," Sarah replied. "What is the bigger picture? This is a chance to catch both a mob boss and a serial killer. Can we really afford to miss this?"

Gordon allowed a smile to finally show itself. "Remind me to never make you mad again. Something tells me I wouldn't survive it. Make the offer and we'll see where that will take us. Even if he turns us down, we keep an eye on him. We can still try to catch two rats in the same trap.

"So how will we make contact? How will we approach Valestra and who would be best for the job?" Despite how disgusted he was, he was being pragmatic at the moment and in more ways than one. They couldn't send just anyone; the wrong person could cause Valestra to push back and refuse their offer. They needed someone intelligent, who could read the mood, and adjust accordingly. Someone who could be diplomatic if it called for it.

"I have someone in mind," Sarah mentioned, taking a sip of her coffee. Oh, she was going to be that way, playing with him.

"Who?" he asked, giving in to her game.

"Renee Montoya's been slumming it with Bullock for the past four years. Anyone who can stand Bullock can stand the piece of shit that Valestra is," Sarah explained. "Plus, as his partner, she's managed to make quite a reputation for herself. Even has a high rate of case completion. As good a cop as any."

"In Gotham, a high rate of case completion is not always respectable," the commissioner pointed out.

"She's not from the same cloth the old guard came from. By high rate, I meant she's a thorough investigator, someone who could earn their detective's shield any time now," Sarah corrected. "I would trust her with this assignment, but that's me."

Gordon gave a wry smile. "I've learned to trust your judgment. If you think she's up to it, bring her in here and we can get the ball rolling."

* * *

"Bruce, we need to talk."

If there were ever five words any man hated, it was those. Those words had led to many a deep, soul-searching conversation that most men rather not have because it was usually distracting from a much bigger objective. In this case it was a murderer who just offed Buzz Bronsky.

"Now is not the time," Batman retorted as he took a seat in his chair, the large supercomputer coming to life. Really, the timing for whatever conversation Zatanna wanted was really bad. With what happened at the industrial warehouse and its aftermath, there were more pressing matters. That wasn't including the creation of an antidote for Crane's fear toxin, which if the computer was correct, wasn't ready. Analysis on the current formula were still underway and that also required time until it was complete.

Not that he was given much choice in the matter.

Zatanna would not be brushed off though. "No, I think now is exactly the right time," she shot back with no lack of anger in her voice. "You just walked right into a trap tonight and if it wasn't for me, you'd be swiss cheese right now."

That much was true; however, Batman could see where this was going the moment the dark-haired woman opened her mouth. "And I believe I made the right call in _not_ bringing you in with me. You would've been just as dead as me if you'd been in that shooting gallery."

Zatanna snorted. "And how was it you managed to get out of that 'shooting gallery'? Oh wait, that was me with my magic. Face it Bruce, you need more help than you're letting on. You're not letting those other vigilante groups assist you, and I get why. I really do. But I'm more than capable enough to keep up with you; I have been keeping up with you on your patrols. Need I remind you I was running with Superman and the others while you were plotting world domination."

"I wasn't plotting-" the dark-clad man began-

-only to be interrupted instantly. "Part of a plan for taking over the world, same difference." She sighed. "You know I turned down their invite for that super-friends group those guys are making because I thought you needed me more. In fact, I _know_ you need me more than they do. Now quit being a stubborn ass and let me help you, damn it!"

That was...interesting. Batman hadn't known those other heroes were banning together, but now he'd be keeping a more critical eye on them. Already scenarios of how this could go wrong were forming in his head and...and...Zatanna was giving him a knowing look, clearly expecting some sort of response from him.

And if he was honest with himself, his childhood friend was fully capable of doing more than he had allowed her thus far. She'd been proving it for the last month, especially in the last few nights. This time it was his turn to sigh. "Fine."

Zatanna raised an eyebrow. "Fine, what?"

"I'll... _try_...to fit you in more." Hmm, this admission thing was a little more difficult than he thought it was. "You're just going to have to keep me on a short leash until I'm used to this."

"Not exactly the words I'm looking for, Bruce."

The dark-clad man resisted the urge to growl. "I'd appreciate your help in the field," he said through tightly-clenched teeth.

That caused the woman to look triumphantly at him. "See? Now was that so hard?"

 _You have no idea._

Deciding to ignore that jab, Batman turned to the computer monitor and began tapping his fingers on the keyboard. "We have some logistics we need to go over," he said. "Like you wearing a mask."

Zatanna raised an eyebrow at that. "Why? So none of the punks you beat up fall in love with me or something?"

"Well, you have been seen on the arm of Bruce Wayne. Anyone with half a brain could make a connection between me and Batman by just following you. At the very least we need to make them work for it. So if you're going to be front and center with me, no one should be able to see your face."

The dark-haired woman was silent for a moment. "Okay, I can see where you're going with that."

"Good. Now, we have more pressing business," the vigilante stated as he changed the subject, bringing up files relevant to Bronsky on the computer monitor. The gangster's background, demographics, criminal record, and financial statements popped up in separate windows on the monitor, along with a picture of the recently-deceased man. "There's a murder to solve."

"So you say," Zatanna agreed. "So who is this guy?"

"Buzz Bronsky, a lieutenant in the Valestra Crime Family," Batman replied, reading off the man's history. "Extensive criminal record since he was 16, became an enforcer for Valestra in his 20's, and worked his way up to being an important figure in the family. Has a number of dummy corporations in his name…"

Something caught his eye. Opening a window for one of the dummy corporations, an Adam's Tool and Die, a list of the board of directors appeared on screen. Two names immediately jumped out at him.

"Charles Sol and Boxy Bennett," he read out loud, the gears in his mind working overtime. "Two other murder victims and recent too. Apparently these three men have closer ties than I thought."

"So this murderer of yours killed these other guys?" Zatanna questioned.

Fingers danced over the keyboard and soon the casefiles for the Sol and Bennett murders will on screen, along with the video footage of the Bronsky crime scene. "Computer, find any common factors in these scenes."

Instantly the monitor began to flash lights as it processed the command. "Okay, what's going on, Dark Knight?" the magician asked.

"I'm trying to find any commonalities between the murders," the vigilante responded. "Unfortunately, there isn't a case file for Bronsky yet, but at the very least the computer will examine and assess any similarities, such as tissue damage and structural damage."

"Oh...if that's all…"

Just then, a new window appeared with the results. "A trace chemical residue was found at both Sol and Bennett scenes," he read off. "That's something to check at the Bronsky scene," he was quick to note. "Though Sol fell from his balcony, a weapon was used on Bennett and Bronsky and…a clean cut with serrations was responsible for both wounds."

"I'm guessing that means one guy killed all three men?" Zatanna summarized. "I thought we knew that already."

"We had suspicious, but now we have proof, or at least enough evidence to support a correlation between the three," Batman rebutted.

"At least now we both know that you didn't kill the Sol guy."

Batman stared at the screen for a moment before turning his head to give the dark-haired woman a disapproving look. To that, Zatanna shrugged her shoulders before adding, "Hey, that's what the papers are reporting and they have eye-witnesses."

"Eye-witnesses are the weakest source of evidence a prosecutor can use," the dark-clad man growled.

"Okay, so where were you the night of Chuckie Sol's murder?"

"I was with you."

"Oh, so now I'm your alibi?"

Batman could see where Zatanna was coming from, though that didn't make the headache he was starting to feel any less irritating. And unfortunately, there were other people who thought he was a murderer now.

As if to compound the issue further, the dark-haired woman continued, "So if I am going to be a get-out-of-jail pass, we need to work on a story. Like we were having a romantic dinner together. You know, the one we haven't had yet and you keep postponing."

This...was not the time for that.

"Now isn't-" he began to reprimand.

Only to be interrupted in turn. Again. "So I was thinking, even if it is too late to have that dinner back then, we could have it now and just use that as your story. And it would be fresh in my head so I can back you up. Everyone wins."

"And what do you recommend we have?" Batman grunted back, giving into Zatanna's mad idea.

That seemed to catch the dark-haired woman off guard as she stared at him owlishly. Then she jumped at the idea with full gusto. "I don't know about you, but I could go for some duck, roasted on a fire, with all the trimmings. Not sure what else goes with that, but I'm sure we can make something up."

"Promising," he acknowledged, but then added, "so when do you plan on cooking all of this?"

That stopped her right in her tracks. "Me?" she questioned dumbly. "Hey, isn't it the guy who has to make the romantic dinner? And FYI, I'm not exactly that great of a cook."

"Neither am I," Batman replied. "And the restaurants that actually make it aren't exactly known for doing take out. They view it as beneath their culinary excellence."

"Fine, we don't go for duck then. We can do something...else…"

"When then?" the vigilante prodded. "Tomorrow's not a good night and neither is the night after."

"Then...then…" Zatanna sputtered out before her mood soured. "You know, you take all the fun out of life."

"So I've been told."

* * *

Huntress plopped onto the couch in the Birdcage. She felt tired, exhausted, any number of words that meant popped. Usually she was upbeat after coming back from busting heads. Now, however, she didn't have the energy to raise a finger, much less debrief on tonight's festivities.

It had started normally enough. She and the Birds were starting their patrol when they noticed unusual activity in a factory in the Industrial Area. Bursting in, they had found the original/possibly new Batman facing down a small army of men with guns. If there was ever a time to prove they kicked ass, took names, and broke hearts, that was it.

And it had all gone down great. BC had used her canary cry to stun everyone, Katana sliced and diced every gun she came across, along with rupturing some livers and kidneys with some well-placed blows, and she, the Purple Wonder and leader of their little gang had made sure a lot of those thugs wouldn't be walking or writing for a long time.

So of course Batman had to disappear throughout all that excitement. Katana had been the one to spot him giving chase to a large, fat man, probably the leader of the bunch. Once the Birds had finished off with the fat man's entourage, they went off after him and the Bat. And what was it they found?

 _Huntress exploded through the doorway, finding herself on a large loading dock, Black Canary and Katana hot on her heels. Immediately she noticed something had gone down here, what with the large pile of crates in front of her. That had caused her to skid to a stop, her comrades nearly running her over in their haste._

 _Yet, while the pile was just a pile, what gripped the purple-clad woman's attention was the man lying underneath the boxes, a puddle of blood flowing out from his head. Even more attention-getting was Batman standing next to him, a crate in his arms as if he were about to drop it on top of the dead man in order to hide him._

While Huntress hadn't gotten along with the Bat, she was well aware of his stance on killing people. He had lectured her at great length about it once. To see him, or someone really looking like him, actually offing another person had sent a shock through her system.

She was thinking it was the shock of seeing such a stanch non-killer actually kill someone. Yet, it was possible that she just received confirmation that this wasn't the Batman she had known and someone else had put on the mask-a deadlier person. A small part inside of her was wishing it was the second one 'cause then she didn't have to try and fit in murderer into the Bat legend. Plus, thinking they had a competent copycat was much more palatable.

"Who wants to start first?" Black Canary suddenly asked, shaking Huntress out of her thoughts. The blonde and Katana had taken their usual seats in their headquarters, though neither of them were going through the motions of restocking their equipment or maintaining their weapons. It seemed they were also of the same mind as the purple-clad vigilante.

"No one, huh?" BC said more to herself than anything. "I'll go then. I'm pretty sure we saw the Bat kill someone. Anyone else agree?"

"Assuming this isn't a new guy," Huntress muttered, though it was obviously to her the other two women heard her as they both looked towards her. "But yeah, the Bat killed a guy."

That admission, though simply said, caused a sinking sensation to well up inside the dark-haired woman. She didn't like it one bit.

"It seems we need to make agreement on whether this old or new Batman," Katana suggested from her corner of the room.

"In the end it doesn't really matter," Black Canary replied. "Fact of the matter is that someone dressed like Batman killed a man. It doesn't matter if it was the original or a new person; they...they need to be brought in and answer for their crime."

Huntress perked up at the slight catch in the blonde's little speech. Apparently she was also feeling the same way as the purple-clad vigilante. That was a little comforting. Still, BC made a good point. "It's safe to say this guy wasn't expecting us to show up when he did. You all saw that deer-in-the-headlights look he gave us, right?"

Upon seeing their nods, Huntress continued, "So that makes me wonder if this is his first kill, or maybe another one in a long line of them. I mean, he was being accused of throwing that one guy off a balcony, right?"

Black Canary nodded her agreement. "That's a good point. Though it seems sloppy of him to try killing a man when he knew he wasn't entirely alone. Yeah, we weren't on the docks yet, but he knew we were really close. I know I wouldn't try to off someone if I knew there would be potential eye-witnesses."

"You're assuming you're thinking like a killer," Huntress pointed out. "Believe me, if a person wants to kill someone, they're going to do it regardless if they're spotted or not. And Katana mentioned he fought like an assassin when we were at that Jokerz riot." She then looked to the Asian woman for confirmation. "I'm right about that, right?"

"I did say that," Katana acknowledged.

"It sounds like we're assuming he's a murderer," BC pointed out then. "For all we know, he may not have done it."

That was certainly possible, Huntress admitted to herself, but she was more apt to believing what her eyes saw and she saw a man trying to hide a body. Until she was proven otherwise, she was going with her gut and it told her they had a potential Iceman emerging.

"We should be cautious," Katana replied. "Kill or no kill, this is dangerous man. We know this." _No kidding._ "It be wiser if we figure out who may be next so we can determine once and for all."

That wasn't a bad idea. "So who was that guy? The dead one," Huntress asked. "I didn't recognize him."

Upon seeing the other two women shake their heads in the negative, the purple-clad woman felt this was going to be much harder to do than she was hoping. "We're going to need to figure that out. I'm sure the newspapers or some internet person is going to report on this, so we can find out his identity in the morning."

"And we already know a previous murder," Black Canary added. "Chuckie Sol, who people say was pushed out by Batman. We're going to want to find a link between the two victims and then figure out anyone else they're connected to."

"Sounds like a plan to me," Huntress agreed before glancing over to Katana. "How about you?"

"Plan is solid."

"Great. Let's clean up then. We've had a long night."


	13. A Nearly Perfect Day

A Nearly Perfect Day

Remmey's was an upscale restaurant that just recently opened about a month ago. It's opening day had been a smash hit with the wealthy of Gotham. It had large front windows that lit in an obscene amount of light into the white and cream-colored room. The dining room was expensively decorated with rich curtains, silk tablecloths, gold-plated candlesticks, and just about anything else to make the city's elite feel right at home.

And it was here that Bruce held a chair out, letting Zatanna sit down in it as he pushed it in under her and up to the table. The dark-haired woman had been insistent that they have a lunch date all morning and Bruce saw no reason to say no. In fact, she had become his excuse to bail on a board meeting.

It also didn't hurt that the magician had pointed out that they really hadn't done much couple stuff since they returned to Gotham. Bruce had wracked his mind to counter her, but couldn't think of anything outside of the Rutherford Gala. Any other attempts to set something up had been rebuffed by him and if he wasn't mistaken, Zatanna had been looking more and more disheartened. It really wasn't fair to her and she deserved a better effort from him.

The look she gave him when he agreed had been worth it.

As he took his own seat, he noticed Zatanna looking at him with a warm smile, one that made him return with his own, albeit smaller. "Didn't I tell you this would be a good idea?" the magician asked rhetorically.

"I believe you did, yes," Bruce answered despite not needing to.

"And you didn't want to come. You know, there is more to life than business meetings and late-night shenanigans," Zatanna teased him, leaning forward in her chair. She had on a white blouse that was conveniently unbuttoned at the top by a couple buttons, which provided the dark-haired man a teasing view of her cleavage. Bruce wasn't one to ignore such a sight and enjoyed the display for a moment. "I mean, this is what, the second time in a week we've gone out? A girl might get the idea you're just not interested if you keep this up."

However, he did have to respond to her eventually and he made sure to sound quite distracted. "You can hardly blame me; sometimes work and play just get too...distracting…"

"To you Bruce, it's all work."

Right about then the waiter appeared at the side of their table. "Good morning and welcome to Remmey's. Is there anything I can get for you to drink?"

It was too early for Bruce to start drinking, even though he did have a reputation for doing so-or at least had one. Either way, he wasn't quite in the mood for alcohol and Zatanna seemed to be of the same mind. "Water, please," the dark-haired woman said.

"Make that two," Bruce added, holding up his hand and extending two of his fingers. "And be sure to bring a little bowl of lemons while you're at it. I do love me some lemons."

Though it was slight, the drop in the waiter's shoulders indicated he was disappointed with their drink selections. He was probably already running up a tab in his head on what sort of tip he was looking forward to and their drink selections obviously weren't working in his favor. "Can I get you anything to eat as well?"

Seeing as neither of the dark-haired couple had opened their menus, the answer to that was, "Give us a moment, will you. We just sat down after all."

"Very well. I'll be back with your drinks." The moment the waiter left, Bruce returned his eyes to Zatanna, who was picking up her menu and opening it.

"I wonder what's good here," she said more to herself as her eyes soaked in the menu options. Bruce took that as his chance to glance at his menu, but he pretty much knew what he wanted after reading two of the dishes. If you had been to one restaurant, you've been to them all, or so had been his experience. Besides, as a billionaire, if he asked for something that wasn't on the menu, the kitchen staff would be adamant on making it for him regardless.

Laying down the menu, Bruce then placed an elbow on the table and propped his head up with his raised hand. Staring at his lunch companion, he patiently waited until she noticed him watching. "Found something already?" she asked as she peeked over her menu.

"I have, though I don't think she's on the menu."

That caused Zatanna to pause before lowering the menu and looking at him strangely. "She?" she questioned.

"Mmmhmm," Bruce hummed. His eyes lit up with mirth as he saw the gears turning in the woman's head as she tried to figure out what he was getting at. "Maybe you've heard of her; I hear she's quite magical."

Recognition lit up on Zatanna's face and a coy smile appeared on her face. "Oh, I think I have, though I thought she might be for desert. You better eat all your vegetables though, or you won't be getting a piece."

"That so? Are you going to withhold my desert?"

"Oh yes. Someone has to."

"Then I guess I could settle for you then."

Zatanna's smile dropped. "Wait, what?" she practically snapped.

Bruce's grin grew wider in turn. "What, you thought I was talking about you?"

The dark-haired woman's eyes narrowed before a thought struck her. "You're teasing me, aren't you?"

"Of course."

"Ha. Ha. Nice try."

"I thought so too." Bruce leaned back in his chair, letting his forearm drop to the tabletop. "I believe you also wanted to talk to me about something, which is why you dragged me here."

"You know, you could still be stuck in that meeting of yours instead of enjoying the company of a lovely woman," she shot back in irritation.

Hmm, Zana seemed particularly thin-skinned today. Seemed he wasn't going to get his fill with teasing her for now. Then again, he should have expected as much; he could even pinpoint the exact moment.

It had started with the completion of the antidote to Crane's fear toxin. While it had taken much longer than either of them thought it would, it turned out that Bruce's body had managed to effectively break down the toxin in his body and rendered it inert. As far as he was concerned, he didn't have any need to take the antidote, which was not something Zatanna approved of. Their following conversation hadn't gone too well and it had left the dark-haired woman seething. In fact, her idea for lunch had been entirely unexpected considering where they were standing.

Still, he'd take whatever olive branch she offered. "Believe me, I'd rather do anything with you than listen to a bunch of lawyers talk with each other."

"Anything? Really?" That seemed to pique the dark-haired woman's interest. "Such as?"

It was Bruce's turn to look at her annoyed. "I'm sure you can come up with plenty of things without my help."

"You would be right about that." Zatanna then leaned forward in her seat. "but you are right, there is something I want to talk to you about. Us."

The billionaire raised an eyebrow. "Us?"

"It's been over a month since you came back and that was after three years of you being...gone. We were close when we last saw each other and I…" Bruce couldn't help but notice how insecure his friend was. Apparently there were unresolved issues between them that he hadn't been aware of. "Well, I just wanted to know where we stood. You've been busy with your company and all, and I understand you have all those obligations, but I've been feeling pushed to a side."

It was true that Bruce had been focused on Gotham since his return. A lot of that had to do with the changed climate. The crime he had known had changed from the old mob families to new ones, not to mention the slow crumbling of the Jokerz, which was allowing smaller gangs to reassert themselves in the underworld. It sometimes felt as if he hadn't been able to catch his breath as he re-familiarized himself with this new Gotham. That made it incredibly possible that he was neglecting other facets of his life, this young woman in front of him being one of them.

For her, he'd be willing to make a change or two.

"I'm sorry about that," he apologized to her. "For however I'm making you feel. So where do we stand? I'd like to think we can pick up where we left off, but there are obvious obstacles. I'm willing to give it a shot if you're up for it."

"Totally," Zana immediately said before she began coughing, holding a hand in front of her mouth. When she dropped it, she continued, "I mean, I would like that."

That was nice. Yet, it seemed they weren't quite done. It didn't feel like they were done considering the ease of which they came to an agreement. "I suppose you do have some issues with how things are, otherwise you wouldn't have brought this up."

The magician slowly nodded. "Right again, Sherlock." She sighed. "I don't want to throw too much at you, but I think we need some time for just us. To do things. Being with you at night is great and all, but that has everything to do with your commitments than it does with just us. I mean, when we first met, you at least bought me ice cream sodas."

"So you want me to buy you an ice cream soda?"

"No, I'm just using that as an example." Right about then, the waiter returned with their waters, setting down the glasses in front of them followed by a small bowl of lemons. The couple paused their conversation to relay their orders and waited for the man to leave them. "As I was saying," Zatanna restarted, "I'm hoping for more couple-y things. Lunch, dinner and a movie…"

"Getting lucky?" Bruce suggested.

"Only if you've been a good boy," she retorted.

"Kinda hard to do that when that sort of thing requires you to be naughty."

Zatanna gave him a look that told him she was not amused. Extending a finger up, he made a circular motion with it to indicate the rest of the room, to tell her they had an audience. Her look didn't slacken in the least, but there was a slight, imperceivable nod of her head that told him she understood, but obviously her body language wasn't going to let that deter her in the least. So the billionaire let out a sigh before saying, "I'll do what I can, Zana. I can't promise you the moon right now, but I'll try to make a better effort."

Zatanna's shoulders dropped slightly, but it was a sign she was giving in. "That's all I can ask I suppose," she said wistfully.

Bruce took that moment and leaned forward, reaching out with his and and resting it on hers. "Look at me, Zana," he ordered, to which she complied. "You have my word on this."

The corners of her mouth twitched up, her eyes reflexively narrowing and widening to signal her approval. "I'll hold you to that."

Returning the gesture, the dark-haired man responded, "Speaking of holding, I need to use the little boy's room."

"TMI, Bruce. TMI"

Smirking, he then stood up, pushing his chair back as he did so and walked around the table, heading towards the restrooms. Well, the conversation ended better than where it had started, his stalling notwithstanding-the price he had to pay for keeping up appearances.

Unfortunately, he didn't make it to the restrooms. Just as he was reaching the small hallway that led to his desired destination, as well as the kitchen doors, the door to the women's restroom opened and the last person he wanted to see walked out and promptly froze in place in front of him. "Bruce!" Andrea exclaimed in surprise, her eyes wide in astonishment.

"Andrea," the dark-haired man greeted coolly.

"I...I wasn't expecting to see you here," she stammered. Apparently their last conversation was still weighing on her, which definitely explained why she was acting like a nervous schoolgirl.

"Likewise. Now if you'd excuse me-"

Before he could finish his sentence, Andrea shot a hand out and grabbed his arm, an attempt to keep him from brushing past her. Bruce was tempted to ignore her and do so anyway. "Bruce, wait, I…" she trailed off uncertainly before she paused, took in a deep breath, and then began to rephrase. "Okay, let me start over. I...I would like to apologize to you."

"Apologize," Bruce repeated skeptically.

The red-haired woman nodded her affirmation. "Yes. I know I've been rather distant to you lately and it wasn't what you deserve, especially after everything. I'm sorry about that."

"That's nice. Apology accepted."

Andrea narrowed her eyes as she looked at him hard. "I know that tone," she stated, fire appearing in her voice. "You only use that when you don't care what the other person is saying."

"Very perceptive," Bruce replied.

The woman lowered her head for a moment, her hand sliding down his forearm slightly, but not relinquishing her hold. "I deserve that, but can we get past this? Can't we be civil to each other? I don't think that's too much to ask for."

"Not that I wouldn't mind, you're the one that made it abundantly clear we couldn't," the billionaire pointed out.

"And it was wrong of me. To be honest, I didn't think you would accept me with open arms, not after what happened last time. So I thought if, I don't know, if I pretended it hadn't happened, you would've gone along with it and we'd get through this whole thing without any discourse."

"Our breakup wasn't exactly amicable. As I recall, you're the one that sent the Dear John letter and skipped town. I gotta tell ya, that wasn't exactly easy to get over."

The red-haired woman raised an eyebrow. "All of those other women you dated beg to differ."

And this unwanted conversation was taking a downward turn, though Bruce was pretty sure he was driving that train. "Make of that what you will," he said with a shrug, "but it hardly matters with the two of us. You want to be acquaintances, fine, we can do that."

The nervous schoolgirl returned as Andrea lowered her head slightly. "And if we could be friends?"

"Then I'd say you have your work cut out for you. I'll pull back my armada if you do the same. That's about all I'm willing to give you right now."

She nodded her acceptance. "Then I'll take that." A pause. "But I want you to know, despite everything, I never stopped thinking about you. I can't tell you how many times I wanted to come back and take it all back."

Despite himself, Bruce had to admit his curiosity was piqued by that admission. It had been a while since he had dwelled on the young woman, but he did allow himself to wonder what she was up to without him. "I can say that I wanted that once," he admitted.

A sad smile appeared on Andrea's face. "Then this trip would be worth it if we can at least not be mad at each other." Then, she leaned towards him, letting go of his arm and bringing both of her ups to wrap around his shoulders. Bruce hadn't been expecting the hug, but he found that he wasn't entirely against it either. A wave of nostalgia washed over him and he found he was returning the embrace a moment later.

And then, it ended as quickly as it began. "Thank you, Bruce," Andy said before she stood up on the tips of her toes and pecked his cheek with his lips, leaving a quick, chaste kiss. "I'll see you later?"

As they removed their arms, Bruce found himself answering, "You will." Andrea's smile grew wider, more happy before she turned and walked towards the exit of the restaurant.

All the while, the dark-haired man just stood here, watching her go. He didn't really feel like relieving himself anymore, yet hadn't quite worked up the motivation to start moving again. Had...had they really made some sort of amend to each other? Whatever it was, it made him feel numb.

The only thing that woke him from his stupor was the feeling of eyes on him, which caused his own to sharpen. Turning his head, he soon caught sight of Zatanna looking over at him from her seat, her eyes widened and her mouth open in shock.

 _Oh, crud._

* * *

None of that had been planned, yet Andrea found that that had turned out better than she had hoped. Who would have thought that a chance encounter, an accident even, in a restaurant that catered to the upper class would have led to such a reversal.

It seemed for the time being that if there was any real dislike or hate, Bruce was willing to put it aside. And that answer, now that brought some color back into her life.

Maybe crossing paths with Bruce once again wasn't as bad as she had dreaded. Yes, when they had first laid eyes on one another at the Rutherford Gala, that had not been the way to approach this. However, like he had said back there, she had her work cut out for her if she wanted anything more than the hand of acquaintanceship he was offering.

If the past had anything to say about it, the distant past not the recent, she would regain the trust that had been broken all those years ago.

She hadn't been lying either about thinking about him. If things had been different, if only…

No Andrea, don't go back there. For now, there was no way they were going to be that close again. If anything, from their conversation at Wayne Enterprises, that man could hold a grudge though he didn't seem like the type. Completely out of left field, that.

Nonetheless, possibilities were opening up. Maybe once her business in Gotham was concluded, she could focus on repairing the damage that she had unwillingly created. Maybe she could stay in the city, you know, as a way to make sure that the dealings with Wayne Enterprises continued to be...profitable?

That was weak. Really weak there, Andrea. Damn.

Emotions that had been buried long ago were rearing their heads, screaming that they weren't buried as deep as she had thought. This...this might be a problem, especially if it got in the way of…

No, now's not the time for that. Remember, you are Andrea Beaumont now. You are in charge of Beaumont Accounting, and you are in the middle of negotiations with one of the largest and wealthiest corporations on the planet. Business has to, needs to, come first.

Only when all is said and done can you think about other things.

And if those other things included...getting back what had been lost...

Andrea couldn't help it, even as a smile began to spread across her face. Everything was brightening up now and she was looking forward to a future, one that included Bruce Wayne.

She had to admit, she was looking forward to it.

* * *

"I'm beginning to think you're a part of my office now."

The sight of the new district attorney was becoming a common one at the station, the man's favorite haunt being his office of all places. Dent had made himself at home in a chair, legs crossed as he looked through a thick file, writing notes onto a legal pad that was balanced on a leg. Gordon awkwardly shifted his weight from one leg to another, a small stack of files tucked under an arm.

Gordon received a quick glance from the public official who then immediately returned his attention back to the file. "I was serious when I said I wanted us to be working together, Gordon," Dent replied.

"So I see. Don't you think you should be doing that," the commissioner gestured at the file and legal pad, "on a desk, preferably in an office that has your name on it."

"That's the thing about paperwork, you can take it anywhere," Dent quipped back. "You can't tell me that you do all of yours in this room. You probably have a niche somewhere; this place just happens to be mine."

"Certain people might think we're in bed together," he remarked. "Not literally, of course."

"Good. Keep them on their toes." Dent closed the file, placing it on the floor along with the legal pad. "I'm not here to make people feel comfortable; I'm here to do my job. So fill me in on what's happening. I heard there was another one."

There was no need to ask what Dent was talking about. Handing his coat up, the commissioner made his way towards his chair, moving around his desk. "Almost as bloody as the last one. The head was still attached. The victim was helpless, and according to the coroner, the killer was quick. Scary," he added as an afterthought as he took his seat, setting the small stack of files he carried on the first available space he found..

"Scary? What does that mean?"

"The victim, Bronsky, looked terrified. Didn't even look like he had time to take the fear off his face before he died," Gordon replied, not looking up at the lawyer as he picked through the files he placed on his desk on his desk.

"So our killer is scary-looking. What are the odds in this city." Gordon didn't even have to look to know that Dent was rolling his eyes. "Any ideas as to who might be responsible."

"My men do," Gordon answered.

"I'm not asking about your men's ideas, I'm asking about yours," Dent stated. Pausing for a moment, "Do you think it might be one of those Batmen?"

He clenched his teeth together tightly. Taking a moment to control his urge to snap at the other man, he replied, "A Batman, the Batman, they're all still suspects. There is no evidence that any of them aren't responsible."

"But none that they did either," Dent pointed out. "Come on, Gordon. I know you're better than this."

"The killer is not leaving much behind, other than the dead bodies." He was quick to speak, his anger starting to leak out a bit. "Whoever he is, he's getting better, and now we have three gangster dead. It's only a matter of time until the mob decides that it's not going to take this anymore and start fighting back."

"How about you start taking the mob families off the streets, then?"

"You should know how difficult it is to prosecute organized crime."

"I don't care. Let's start doing what you did before, cleaning up the streets and getting rid of those lawbreakers," Dent continued to argue. "You and I both know that you beat them once before. You can do it again. Isn't it time?"

"I'm beginning to think that you're operating under a misunderstanding, Dent," he retorted. "Even though we were fighting the mob and they were losing their heads, their bosses, the mob was never truly on the run. They hunkered down and hid themselves, waiting for their opportunity to come back. Falcone, Maroni, Moxon, each of them were replaceable, that's the reality we face. The middle men, the lieutenants, they were coming out unscathed. When the bosses bit the dust, they consolidated their power. When the Batman left, they returned with a vengeance. Do you really think we ran the mob out of this city? We didn't. The mob's roots run deep, and we never touched one. Best we did was prune the damn branches."

Dent was staring him down, not saying a word. Maybe he had gone a little overboard with that rant, but he couldn't allow the district attorney to be working under the wrong assumptions. Gordon had learned that the hard way, when the mob made itself known once more in a wave of crime not seen since organized crime first took over. Men like Valestra and Bertinelli, who were only blips on his radar, were rising kingpins now. Just because the boss of the family was out of the picture didn't mean the family followed him.

It was a rookie mistake, being blind to such a thing. No, he had willingly blinded himself to it, relying too much on a vigilante to do his dirty work.

"What's going on Gordon. What happened to you?" Did this man make it a hobby of his to pry into things he had no business knowing?

"This city changes you Dent. Even people like me," Gordon replied. "It gets your hopes up, then crushes them. Every time you think things will get better, they take a turn for the worst. People you thought you could depend on...show their true colors, turn their backs on you. Either you piece yourself back together or stay broken."

"I've heard that before. I don't buy it." Dent reached down to pick up his belongings off the floor. "It's easy to say that, to put the blame on something abstract like 'the city.' I want you to know that I'm not going to give into it. If there is anything you can depend on, it's that I won't turn my back on this city." Standing up, Dent gave him a once over, looking over him from head to toe. "From this moment on, Gotham is going to be a better place and I don't care what my detractors say or my enemies will throw at me, I am not going to sit back while Gotham gets taken over by thugs and clowns."

Gordon watched as the district attorney crossed the room, heading for the door. As he grasped the doorknob, he paused and looked over his shoulder.

"I hope that you'll be there to help me change this place, Gordon. I really hope you do."

* * *

Had he been the type, Strange would have whistled a tune to himself as he strolled through the hallways of the Asylum. He wasn't the type, however, but he settled for a relaxed smile instead.

It would be obvious to anyone that he was in a good mood. So far the day had been fruitful with some of his patients. Even better, he was making progress with Jonathan, ahem, Jonathan Crane that is. This was certainly Hugo Strange's day, and it could only get better for him.

There was one little piece of business he needed to take care of, though. Perhaps you could say it was the only dark cloud on this perfect day of his. Instead of overreacting, and declaring his day was ruined because of this flaw, he was going to be doing something about it instead. To correct this flaw, he was going to need the assistance of his lesser.

He was going to have to have a talk with Jeremiah Arkham so that this flaw in an otherwise perfect day was to be corrected.

Now, it wasn't like he was going to be pulling any teeth here. Far from it, if he had a problem that only the intervention of dear Jeremiah was required, then he was going to use every inch of the superior ranking man to his benefit. After all, Jeremiah for all intents and purposes was a tool. Did one begrudge using a hammer to nail? Did one refuse to use a shovel in preference of their hands? No, a tool was a tool with a purpose that it was made specifically to accomplish.

This wasn't Hugo Strange lowering himself to gain the aid of a man who was both his intellectual and substantial inferior, but him simply using a tool for its intended purpose.

Reaching Jeremiah's office, Strange gave a loud rap to the door. It was best if one was polite and displayed manners. Inferior specimens responded well to such things.

His patience was tried when he didn't get an immediate response, but once he did, Strange allowed himself in, coming to a stop in front of the desk where his human-shaped tool resided.

Nearly dwarfed by the large chair in which he sat, Jeremiah was a mouse of a man if Strange didn't say so himself. Reedy and slim, Jeremiah peeked up at him from behind a pair of spectacles that only served to make him appear more more childish than esteemed. Yes, the sight only served to engrave further into Strange mind that he was dealing not with an adult but a child.

Sure there were the signs of age and stress scaring the other man's face, but Strange was never one to let wrinkles and bags deceive him. Now that he thought of it, Jeremiah was like a child, one trying to play doctor, what with that white coat of his that he had no reason wearing. A dress shirt and tie were the only other garments that were visible thanks to the desk blocking the sight of Jeremiah's lower half, only more attempts to seem more authoritative that Strange only deemed to be a fool's quest.

Jeremiah was not a man who commanded any respect, not even from his own patients.

"What is it, Professor Strange?" Jeremiah asked him, his voice reminding him of a wisp for some reason. Yes, a wisp, so soft and quiet.

"There is a matter of importance that I need to speak with you about," Strange answered him in his louder, booming voice.

A crease in the brow, Jeremiah was worried. Good. "What is it?"

"I have made a few orders for materials, some of which are important for my work," Strange explained. "There have been...problems with delivery, I fear. These materials are necessary to further my research, Jeremiah, and without them I will be impeded. Any progress I can make will be delayed. My patients are not the kind who need their progress delayed because of irregular shipping schedules. It could be said that any delays would be detrimental."

"Why is it you are coming to me, Professor?" Jeremiah asked. "Shouldn't you be taking this up with the suppliers?"

"I would, but my time is extremely sensitive. My patients are too important to be rescheduled for something as trivial as this." Strange felt like he was explaining to a real child, as he perceived Jeremiah to be. "Besides, I am merely a doctor in this facility. You are the face, the man in charge. They will listen to you better than they would a man of my stature."

"You have a lot of confidence in me," Jeremiah remarked.

"Unlike some cretins out there, I do have full confidence in you. You are the type of man who can do much when you put your mind to it." It didn't matter if you were a learned man, blue-collar, or a psychopath, compliments were one of many keys to gaining a person's trust. Flattery was another way, even if it wasn't true. "Now, these materials are very sensitive. I will need the utmost care taken upon their delivery. I cannot stress how important they are for my work."

"If you don't mind my asking, what exactly are these materials?" Jeremiah asked.

Hmmph, inserting himself were he didn't need to be. Strange felt irked by this but he needed to push it back. He needed Jeremiah to be where he wanted him, no since doing anything to upset that.

"They are nothing that would get you into any trouble, Doctor. They are merely serums that are needed to improve a formula that a colleague and I are working on. Between you and me, we are on to something. Something that will forever change the field of psychiatry as it were."

"Why are you informing me about this now?" There was some suspiciousness there. Must tread carefully.

"Because I do not promise what I cannot deliver. If this goes nowhere, I wouldn't want to raise your hopes up. However, that is not the case. We are on the verge of a breakthrough, that I do promise. Thus, I do promise you when I have succeeded, you will be the first to know about it."

Jeremiah was biting his lip, a good sign in Hugo Strange's book. He was torn, wanting to know more but at the same time about to cave in. He was walking a tightrope, just about to plunge into the abyss below. Only a little more pushing was required.

"Change is in the air, Jeremiah. For the time being, all I ask is for your ignorance until the time when I can bring you enlightenment. We are so close. The sooner we can finish, the sooner your curiosity can be sated." Come, Jeremiah, take his bait and hook yourself. It was easier than resistance. Don't make this harder for yourself and more importantly Hugo Strange.

"Alright," Jeremiah finally caved in. "Keep me in the loop, Professor. When you've finished what you're working on, I want to...know all about it." There, that was hesitation he heard in his voice.

"Of course," Strange assured him. "When we are ready, you'll know everything you'll want to know. I will take my leave now and I will look forward to those materials arriving soon."

He did not wait for Jeremiah's reply because it did not matter. He had what he wanted. His progress would no longer be impeded. In the meantime he would carry on with his regular duties, meeting and tending to his patients, the mind-numbing progress reports, and assessments.

This was most definitely turning out to be a perfect day for Hugo Strange.


	14. Sign of Weakness

Sign of Weakness

Bruce was not going back to Remmey's anytime soon.

Following his encounter with Andrea, the lunch had swan dived the moment he returned to his table. Any attempt at small talk ended in failure with Zatanna's clipped answers. While the food wasn't bad, the atmosphere had ruined whatever chance it had at being enjoyable. Any attempt at explaining what happened had been rebuffed and the subject changed to a conversation-killer. From his perspective, it seemed the new civility with Andrea was coming at the cost of his...whatever it was he had with Zatanna. Or whatever she had hoped was between them.

It was nighttime now and even now the tension between the dark-haired couple was lingering. As Bruce covered himself with his dark armor, he kept an eye on Zatanna who was seated in the chair in front of the computer, one leg resting on top of the other and her arms crossed beneath her bosom. A sour look was on her face, the same one she had since the restaurant.

This did not bode well.

Finishing clasping on the body armor and reaching out to pull on the gauntlets, Bruce felt that if they were going to have a productive evening, they needed to put this to bed. "We're going to have to talk sooner or later," he began as he shoved his gauntlet on, flexing his fingers inside the glove to make sure it fit comfortably. "Tell me what's wrong."

He was only met with silence, which was not what Bruce wanted. Turning to look towards the woman, he saw she was still glaring at him. "Zana, if you want to patrol with me tonight, then we're going to have to be able to communicate. Otherwise I will leave you here."

That made the magician's scowl deepen. "You want to know what's wrong? Oh, I don't know, how about you getting all cozy with your ex? In the middle of a crowded restaurant."

"And I told you Andrea was just apologizing, nothing more."

"Ohhh, she was 'apologizing,' huh?" Zatanna retorted. "Since when do apologies include hugs and kisses? Those just get thrown around all the time between people that were on the verge of loathing each other."

The dark-haired woman uncrossed her legs and stood up, walking towards him with the accompany of clacking from her high-heeled shoes. "That's a pretty quick turnaround, Bruce, especially from someone who's been so closed off lately, like you. Something else happened and I want to know right now."

It seemed Bruce hadn't nipped this in the bud fast enough. Apparently Zana had been watching too many rom-coms lately and they were influencing her thinking. "Are you saying we've had sex? Sorry to disappoint you, but we've only had words between us."

"And what words were those? Last time I saw you with her, you went out of your way to insult her. Now she's practically throwing herself at you in public."

"We are having business negotiations," the dark-haired man pointed out, reaching for his other gauntlet. "During one of the meetings I pulled her aside and we had a heated conversation, nothing more. My words obviously had an effect on Andrea and she tried to make amends today. That's it."

Zatanna's eyes were still narrowed, but Bruce could tell he was starting to make some progress with her seeing as how she wasn't pouncing on him currently. She was thinking, considering his words, and that was a good sign, he thought. Then, "You know, I'm sure there's plenty of people you don't like, but you don't go so far as to embarrass them so rudely. There's something else you're not telling me about Andrea and your 'history' with her."

At that point, Bruce was holding his remaining gauntlet and was about to slip it on. Upon hearing Zatanna's statement, he lowered his arms, holding it as it dangled next to his leg. Perhaps he should've been more upfront about this from the beginning.

"She and I were engaged once," he blurted out, which promptly caused the magician to widen her eyes as her jaw dropped open. Pressing on, "We had dated for awhile and eventually I proposed. She said yes. It was...a happy moment for me."

And if he really thought about it, he recalled with picture perfect clarity, he and Andrea out on the grounds, the sun setting in the background, and him taking a knee in front of the redhead. The look of realization quickly followed by immense joy flooded her face before she had thrown herself into his arms had been, at that time, the best moment of his life.

Then he continued in a droll tone, "A few days later I received a Dear John letter and the ring with her telling me she wasn't ready for marriage and left town with her father. That was the last I heard from her until that gala we attended."

By then, Zatanna had lowered her head, her look of surprised replaced with a sad one. "I didn't know," she murmured lowly.

"I'll admit, I was angry with her when we saw her, and that wasn't helped at all with her fake distance, but what you saw at the restaurant was nothing more than closure. Whatever feelings I had for Andrea are not the same as they once were and I have no interest in rekindling old flames." Seeing the dark-haired woman wasn't going to respond, Bruce then pulled on his remaining gauntlet, flexing his fingers much like he had down with the first one. "If there's anything else you want to get off your chest about this, now's the time."

"Why didn't you tell me?" she suddenly asked, looking up at him. "At the party, why didn't you say something?"

"You know me, Zana," he answered, "I don't deal with emotions well."

That caused her to snort derisively. "That's the understatement of the century." Then, Zatanna reached out and wrapped her arms around the taller man, pressing the side of her face into his shoulder, to which Bruce returned the embrace with one arm. They stayed that way for awhile until the magician pulled away, the two dropping their arms to a side.

Seeing that as the end of that subject, Bruce then turned to retrieve his mask when he felt a hand grab his bicep. "Hey, we're not finished," Zatanna told him sternly. "I only got a hug while Andrea got to kiss you. I'd say that's unfair."

Bemused, the dark-haired man turned to look at her, the corner of his mouth up. "Is that right?"

A coy smile appearing on her face, Zatanna then brought her face close to his before pressing her lips against his, lingering much longer than Andrea's chaste kiss. When they broke apart, the good humor was still with the dark-haired woman. "There, now we're done."

Giving her a smirk, Bruce finally grabbed his mask and cape and began walking towards the supercomputer, attaching his cape to his suit as he did so. "How good are you at using contacts?" he suddenly asked her, hearing the magician following him.

"Never used them," she answered.

Hmmm, that was a shame. Reaching the computer, he then faced the console, specifically looking at a small case of contact lens and a black domino mask. Ignoring the case, he then picked up the domino mask and turned to face Zatanna, holding the mask out to her. "You'll be using this for the patrol tonight."

Accepting the mask, Zatanna held it out in front of her face, studying it. "It looks like there's transparent lenses in this thing," she remarked.

"That's because there are. While you were sulking, I was programming the mask and contacts with the same recording technology that I have in my own mask. Now you'll be recording everything as well."

"Oh, isn't that sweet. Just what a girl wants," Zatanna deadpanned, then placed the domino mask on. "Umm, this thing doesn't have a strap on, o' mighty Batguy."

"The mask forms a seal between it and your skin, so there's no need for a strap," he informed her.

"Oh, neat." A pause. "Uhh, how am I supposed to take it off?"

"In order to prevent it from being removed, you won't be able to take it off by peeling at the edges. However," at this he raised a hand and reached to the bridge of her nose, pressing his fingers on either side, "if you squeeze here and pull, the mask comes right off."

As he said this, he performed the action and the domino mask popped right off, much to Zatanna's amusement. "You really think of everything, don't you?" she asked rhetorically.

And though he didn't answer her, Bruce knew that in this business he had to. Otherwise accidents happened and people ended up dead. That came from personal experience.

* * *

If only there was some other way.

First Chuckie, then Boxy, and now Buzz. Valestra knew he was running out of time. That Batman impersonator was knocking his men out one by one, barely even pausing to break a sweat. And it had to be _those_ men who were being targeted. When Boxy had been whacked, he had had a feeling that there was definitely more to these killings that met the eye.

There was a pattern, and Valestra knew with certainty that it ended with him.

If it had just been Chuckie and Buzz, that was one thing. Those were two of his top men, his right and left hands for God's sake. It made sense that those two were targets. Boxy was the one that for all intents and purposes stuck out. He was mid-level at best. And yeah, sometimes Boxy came up with opportunities to make some cash, but it wasn't as lucrative as the kind of ventures that he was now involved with.

There was a reason why it was those three, and now that the pattern was out in the open, he knew he needed to act and to act now. Otherwise, he would never have the chance.

Just look at him. He was an old man in failing health. He needed to take an oxygen tank with him wherever he went. Someone like that Batman would crucify him!

Maybe he didn't have long for this world, maybe his reign as the boss of Gotham was to be short-lived, but damn it he was going to go out on his own terms. A freak in a mask and cape wasn't going to decide what his end was going to be. Valestra was going to fight tooth and nail for every scrap he had left.

If he had to go to the one man that he hated working with if only because he himself was a little shit, then so be it. But if only there was another way…

Snap out of it. You aren't Salvatore "the Weasel" Valestra for nothing. That bastard was an upstart punk who had no sense of respect. He needed you, needed you more than you needed him. Yeah, he was just a means to an end, nothing more, nothing less.

He kept telling himself that as he was stopped by two men wearing animal masks. What Black Mask got out of having his inner circle such ridiculous things went over his head.

"I called. He's expecting me," he stated, glowering at the masked men.

The two men, one wearing a bear mask and the other a giraffe, turned their heads to look at one another. So ridiculous, this. Their dignity must be in the sewer.

"He's in his office, expecting you," the man in the bear mask replied, stepping aside while the man in the giraffe mask pushed over the door the two of them stood guard in front of.

Valestra snorted as he tightened his grip on the handle of his wheeled oxygen tank. With the dignity that he still had, he marched past the clowns while wheeling the tank behind him. He would show no weakness here. None at all.

Reaching a very familiar door, Valestra didn't knock as he shoved it opened, strolling into Black Mask's office like he owned the place. From behind the large, black, ornate desk, Black Mask looked up from...whatever it was he was looking at. Kinda looked like some kind of blueprints from here. What kind of face the masked man was making, Valestra didn't know. That skull design hid away what lurked beneath.

"Sal, my man, you're early," Black Mask stated as he quickly rolled up the large sheets of blue-colored paper.

"I have no more time to squander," Valestra bit out.

"Come, sit," Black Mask gestured towards the couch nearest to him. "Take a load off your feet, Sal. Tell me everything that's on your mind."

"You know what's been on my mind," Valestra snapped at the other, roughly taking his seat. "You've been reading the papers. I've been telling you myself. Three of my boys are gone and I'm the one who's next. You'd have to be stupid not figure this one out."

"I'd watch your mouth if I were you, Sal," Black Mask said, a hint of warning in his voice.

"No, I'm tired of this shit!" Valestra began to yell, only to double over as he fell into a coughing fit. Desperately grasping for his oxygen mask, he was hurriedly turning the knob on the tank, managing to get the mask over his mouth as sweet air began to flow into him.

It took him a long moment before he was able to get his breathing corrected, but it was a moment too long and exposed too much weakness.

"You see?" Black Mask said chidingly. "Bad things happen if you don't listen to me. Almost coughed up a lung there."

"I'll be coughing up more than a lung if that Batman wannabe gets his hands on me," Valestra rasped, glaring at the masked man. "This has gone on too long. Too many are dead. Something needs to be done now or our entire operation will be in danger. You still need me."

"I know," Black Mask replied, though he didn't sound too worried.

"You don't sound like it," he accused.

"Sal, you know me. Your position is too important for us to lose. I figured you were going to be coming here soon as you heard about Buzz, so I began coming up with something to make sure the dark, scary Bat or whatever doesn't take from you the few remaining years you have." Black Mask leaned back in his seat, propping and crossing his feet on top of his desk. "The bastard's a thorn in both of our sides, threatens too much. Since we both know that eventually he's gonna come after you, let's take advantage of it."

Valestra narrowed his eyes. "I'm listening."

"I'll spare you the details," Black Mask dismissed the matter. "All you need to know is that by the end of tonight, all your problems are going to be poof, gone."

"Lately, you haven't been very reliable," Valestra growled out. "If you're so confident about this, why didn't you mention anything about it when Buzz was still alive?"

"Because I hadn't thought of it yet. I thought you were gonna be able to take care of it yourself," Black Mask shrugged. "I'll give you that I should have been thinking about it sooner. When it comes to crazy, masked vigilantes, gangsters don't stand a chance."

"You're making too many jokes," Valestra spat out, his breathing starting to deepen as he felt another fit begin to stir in him. He was still too angry to care though he kept his oxygen mask in hand just in case. "Convince me. Convince me you know what you're talking about."

"I'm hurt, Sal. Where's the trust?" Damn mask was making it hard to tell if he was being mocked, another thing to piss the mobster off.

"Convince—!" Again he was hacking, and it had to happen after he raised his voice. Another moment of weakness in front of this bastard. Damn it, he had fallen far.

Just as he was calming down, he felt the couch cushion dip beside him and a hand place itself on his shoulder. His oxygen mask still held to his face, Valestra looked up to see Black Mask right beside him. If he looked carefully enough, he'd be able to see the eyes that hid in the mask's eye sockets.

"Take it easy, Sal. You're in good hands." Any joviality in Black Mask's voice disappeared and was replaced with a meaningful seriousness. "I'm not going to let any psycho out there take you out. We've come this far together, and once we get the plan in motion, Gotham's going to be in palms of our hands. There is no way I'm going to let anyone lay a hand on you."

Maybe it was because he was still feeding on oxygen, but for the first time since he got here, he began to believe the other man. He began to feel...relief. Yeah, that was the word. Relief.

"Yeah, that's it," Black Mask spoke. "Smile, Sal. I promise you, all your troubles end tonight."

* * *

"There they are, right on time."

He spied the truck that had rounded the corner, making its way towards the factory docking station. Magnifying the view on his binoculars, he got a better look at the guys driving. Looked like your typical truck drivers. Problem was most trucks were driven by one guy, not two.

Second problem was this was late at night. No one made deliveries this late when everybody was gone.

The three of them had been scooping this place out for several nights, him, Batgirl, and Nightwing. Every night they left, they were more suspicious of the place than before.

"So what's the plan?" Robin asked, pressing on his earpiece. Gotta hand it to Batgirl and her connection in the police department. They weren't exactly rolling in cash to afford the expensive ones like the Birds of Prey, but they made do with their police radios. "We going in tonight?"

" _I think we got enough,"_ Nightwing replied. _"They've been doing a lot of moving into this place. Not a lot leaving either. Might be some kind of front. Batgirl?"_

Silence on the Batgirl front. Robin was getting the itch to do something. Put a fist or two into some goon's face. For all they knew, this was a place for storing drugs. The fact that it was only a few blocks away from the Narrows, as well as the homes of a lot people who didn't need another source of that crap, added some incentive here.

" _We need to be quick."_ came Batgirl's long awaited answered. Almost made him jump since she hadn't said anything for so long. _"Take them out as quick as you can."_

Peering through the binoculars, Robin counted one, two, three...ten guys down there. Two were opening the back of the truck, three had come with dollies, and the others were rolling up their sleeves, getting ready for some heavy lifting.

" _Three each, and a fourth to the one who finishes first,"_ Nightwing quipped.

"Three? I'm going for five." Robin smirked to himself as he put his binoculars away.

" _Don't forget there might be others inside. We need to take the group out here down quickly and quietly. We don't know all we're getting into."_

"Yes, Mom," Robin rolled his eyes as he answered. Pulling out a grappling hook and a handful of smoke pellets, he got ready to jump on down there from his position on the roof. Already his heart was starting to pump faster in anticipation of the action he was about to get to, his muscles bracing themselves, and his mind clearing itself so as to focus on the task at hand.

All of that was interrupted when Nightwing beat him to the punch, unleashing his own smoke pellets around the men. Just as the group of startled men were about to be obscured from sight, Robin saw the dark features of Nightwing land in the middle of them.

"Showoff," he grumbled as he stashed his smoke pellets away, firing the grapple simultaneously as he did so. A second later he swinging into the cloud of smoke, his feet slamming into the chest of one of the men trying to get out.

And he's down!

Releasing his grapple, he crouched down on the ground and swung a leg out and around himself, managing to trip...someone. The pellets Nightwing had thrown were a bit thick tonight; made it hard to tell who he was fighting against. Though he only got one, the fact the he heard a deep voice go "oof!" meant he didn't get one of his partners.

He was on the fallen man instantly, taking him out once and for all with a solid punch to the face. It also helped that the back of the man's head bounced off the pavement as well, a double whammy hit there.

He sensed movement to his left, and he reacted instinctively. He leapt to tackle the figure and managed to get them except soon he was being rolled and swung about. The fact that one of his arms was pressed against something soft told him that he had struck out at Batgirl. Oops.

However, Batgirl seemed to figure out that this was friendly early on, which would explain the swinging motion he felt. At the last second, he braced his leg and was rewarded with a face being decked with his foot. Homerun there. Or maybe third base. Still, it was a good hit.

"Clear!" he heard Batgirl call out.

"Clear!" Nightwing responded.

Taking a quick second, Robin added his own "Clear!" as well. The smoke was beginning to dissipate, revealing the unconscious bodies of the goons. Not bad timing there.

The smoke also happened to reveal a smug look on Nightwing's face, the context of which was given when he said, "Five."

Son of a bitch.

"This would be so much easier if we had some kind of night vision or something," he grumbled.

"Sorry, we're on a budget," Batgirl replied. "Before I forget…"

Robin's head tilted to a side as Batgirl whacked the back of his head.

"Don't call me mom."

"Geez, can't take a joke?" Robin rubbed the back of his head. At least she held back this time.

"Leave the jokes to me," Nightwing advised, continuing to hold his batons at the ready. "I'm going to check inside. I'll call if I need you."

"Robin, go with him," Batgirl instructed. "I'll secure the truck."

Well, a girl after his own heart. "Roger that."

Nightwing was already sneaking into the building, but he was going to let his older partner do a little scouting first. That is, once he readied himself.

Now these he was a little proud of. Taking a page from the Batman, he had made his own little Batarangs or whatever they were called. He didn't have many of them, he didn't quite have the resources to make a thousand of them, maybe a few dozen, so he needed to use these things sparingly and if he did, pick up what he used. Otherwise he'd run out really quickly.

So with his Robin-shuriken...name could definitely use some work, he followed after Nightwing, keeping his eyes peeled for anyone the other vigilante might have missed. Several minutes of sneaking down a hallway later, he found a body, unconscious. A sign that Nightwing had been through here.

 _Let's hurry it up a bit._ Nightwing would have all the fun before he could knock some skulls together. Quickening his pace while keeping his eyes sharp, he headed deeper into the factory. A minute later, he heard the sounds of a struggle and knew he was close.

A minute later, and he was nothing but irritation.

"What took you so long?" Nightwing jested, finishing off a goon with a thrust of his baton into his chin.

Growling slightly, Robin slipped his unused weapons back into his utility belt. "You're going to have to stop that. We're supposed to be working together."

"Hey, it's not my fault they were heading this way," Nightwing answered, holding his hands up in mock surrender. "They probably heard us earlier. I had to do what I had to do. Now help me get these guys tied up. We don't want any more surprises."

"You treat this like a game sometimes, I swear." He was doing a lot grumbling tonight, but that didn't stop him from pulling out some plastic ties. Just as good as handcuffs if you didn't have any on hand. "You're helping," he said louder, tossing a few ties over.

The next few minutes was nothing but moving a bunch of overweight men around and tying their hands behind their backs. Their legs were an afterthought, but why not? Make it harder for them to do anything behind their backs.

Naturally, before either of them could take a look around, Batgirl called for them.

" _Guys. I need you out here."_

Sharing a glance with his partner, the two of them re-armed and hurried back the way they came to the factory loading dock. Batgirl didn't call for them unless she found or saw something really important. Was there a second truck? Back-up from the outside? Something inside the truck they just ambushed?

Neither of them said a word as the burst out onto the loading dock, the only thing in sight being the bodies of the thugs they had taken out and the back end of the truck, doors opened wide and exposing its cargo. Running over, the two male vigilantes rejoined with their sole female member who was leaning over an opened crate.

Batgirl spared them a glance before returning her gaze to the contents of the crate. Must be really worried here. He could tell from her body language that something was troubling here. Whatever was in the crate had to be responsible.

"What is it?" he demanded, being the first to speak up.

"Do either of you two know what this is?" Batgirl gestured to the crate's contents.

Frowning, Robin peered in, expecting to see packages of cocaine, or heroin, or even some pot. Those had been in his expectations. Instead what he found were small metal canisters no bigger than his lower arm. On each one held a yellow sticker with the symbol of a black skull. No cross bones under it, yet he was reminded of some kind of biohazard label. Clearly it wasn't...or was it?

"What is this?" Nightwing voiced for all of them. "This doesn't look anything like drugs."

"I know," Batgirl agreed. "Look, those aren't even labels for hazardous materials. They look like them, but they aren't."

"So what's inside these things?" Robin asked, putting away his mock-Batarangs-really needed to come up with a better name.

"We have no idea what's inside. We could put ourselves at risk if we open one," Batgirl cautioned.

"So how do we figure out that it is?" he questioned.

"Do you think the police could find out?" Nightwing suggested.

"If it's a bioweapon, they're going to be out of their depth," Batgirl responded. "They could even release what's inside."

"Then what do you suggest we do?" Nightwing asked, crossing his arms.

Before Batgirl could give an answer, a boom in the distance interrupted their discussion.

"What was…?" Nightwing snapped to attention, ready for a fight. Robin knew he had a hand straying towards his belt and Batgirl had her fists up. Yet nothing happened, meaning that wherever this noise came from, it was in a different part of Gotham.

There was an urge to investigate, surely, but there was still this truck to deal with. They couldn't abandon it.

Damn, what were they supposed to do?


	15. The Inferno of Betrayal

The Inferno of Betrayal

Salvatore Valestra was holed up in his penthouse, located on the edge of downtown Gotham. From there he lived in comfort and luxury, his shadow masking the suffering of others.

Across from the building stood the caped figure who gazed dispassionately at the building. A cool breeze billowed the cape, exposing the weaponized right hand whose blade was eager to slice into deserving flesh.

Though nameless in mind, the figure was beginning to accept a name for itself. One known to it and the man who bestowed it upon it. Still, the concept of a name could never truly encompass what it was.

The Phantasm as it was beginning to call itself could feel that the time was near. Three had fallen before it and now it was time for the fourth. None were more worthy than Sal Valestra to taste its blade's edge.

Entering Valestra's penthouse was not too difficult. For a man whose inner circle was under attack, he had left a window open. Perhaps he believed that he was so high up that no one would attempt entering that way. The Phantasm wasn't a common thief. No, it was much more. Heights would not protect this man from it.

Once inside, the Phantasm trailed smoke in its path, creating a ghostly effect about it. The carpeting muffled its footsteps, making it easy to search within the place. Artwork hung on the walls were ignored, not even in its interest. The display of wealth disgusted it.

Where was it's prey? The lights in this place were turned off. A sign that the occupant had retired for the night? No. It had watched this place, observing the habits of its resident. Despite his poor health, Valestra stayed up late into the night.

His office. That was a place to start.

The Phantasm began paying closer attention to every door that came in its sight. Each one it came across, it would stop and check for any light leaking from underneath the door. If that failed, it would listen for any sounds coming from the other side. So far, nothing. It would press on, though. This night was long in coming.

As it reached a corner, the Phantasm paused as it noticed the sound of muffled footsteps. Guards. No surprise. The fact that it had gone so long without finding any was in and of itself odd. After the other deaths, one would think Valestra would have this place filled to the brim with armed men.

Either that, or Valestra was arrogant enough that he thought he was safe here.

The Phantasm drew back from the corner, letting its cape cover the whole of its body. Beneath the gray-colored fabric, it readied its left gloved hand. The seconds were counting down as the guard came closer and closer to the corner, the masked assailant braced and ready for its next action.

As soon as the armed man came into view, it struck, releasing a cloud of smoke into the man's face while slicing with its bladed hand to knock the man's gun away. The man coughed, trying to get the smoke out of his lungs, while the Phantasm backed away and waited. That new addition into its brand of smoke had so far been effective, more so than anticipated. Seeing how it reduced Buzz Bronsky to a spineless coward had been...rewarding. Mayhap Valestra should have a taste too?

As the gassed man calmed his hacking and opened his eyes, he jerked back and fell back on his ass. He never took his eyes of it, said eyes bulging with undisguised fear. His jaw opened and shut, a scream of terror about to claw its way out at any moment.

It was reassuring that the additive still worked. Though it would be interesting to know what the man was seeing, he was not its prey. A heel to the man's face knocked him out and spared him from continued horror. A mercy from the reaper.

It continued its way, searching and watching for any more interruptions. Where was its prey? Where was he hiding? It had waited so long, it could no longer wait.

It came across a second guard, easily dispatched like the first. Because the guard's back was to it, it was simple enough to strike him from behind. No sense wasting smoke here.

Eventually, it came across a set of double doors, light peeking out from the cracks around it. That was something worthy of closer investigation. Padding its way over, the Phantasm stopped in front of the doors and listened, wanting to detect any sign of life within. To its displeasure, there was no sound from within. Then again, the room itself could be reinforced to be soundproof. Also there was the light from inside. The penthouse had so far been dark; there was to be something in there.

With it's left hand, it clutched the door handle and turned it down. Unlocked. Pushing the door opened required little effort and light bathed the apparition. It was getting somewhere now. On the other side of these doors was an office, Valestra's office. There could be no other explanation.

Straight ahead, there was a rotating chair, its back directed towards the door. There was a squeak, the sound of something moving against leather… The chair was made of leather, meaning someone was in it. There could only be one person sitting in it.

Without haste, the Phantasm stalked its way towards Valestra's desk, moving around it to get closer to the chair. It's moment was finally at hand.

"Sal Valestra," it spoke, announcing its presence as it grabbed hold of the chair's back. Forcefully turning it, it concluded, "Your angel of death a-"

It cut itself short as it found the last thing it expected. It had expected to find Valestra, but what it hadn't expected was to find Valestra bound and gagged in the chair, squirming as if his life depended on him.

That squirming stopped as aged eyes widened at the sight of it. Yes, it had certainly expected that look but it was somewhat obstructed by the gag. The same gag that Valestra was trying to motion to as best as he could in his restrained state.

Caution pushed it to remove it, instead of stabbing the frail, old man like it wanted to. Something was wrong with this, seriously wrong. The observation of the lack of guards had come full circle, screaming at it with warning.

Given a hack, Valestra spoke hoarsely, "You...you're not...one of those...Batman wannabes." Sucking in air through his mouth, he continued, "I don't know...who you are. But I think I'm starting to have an idea."

Too calm. This was not how the Phantasm has envisioned this meeting. It sparked an ember of anger within that this man, out of all the others, was the most calm. Calm when he shouldn't be.

"None of it matters. Not now," Valestra confessed. Was it its imagination or was that bitterness in the man's voice? "He told me. He told me how he hired you. When he was tying the ropes around me, he told me how this was a set up, that my part was over. That bastard betrayed me!"

Valestra stopped himself, seemingly struggling against something. His poor health most likely. It had observed the times when this decrepit man had reached out in desperation for oxygen tanks many a time.

Getting control over himself, Valestra said, "He was using me, this whole time. Just like you. And now, he has no more use for either of us. You know who I speak of. Black Mask."

It clenched its left hand tightly into a fist. It understood now, what this was. The whole time, it was being played by the man with the black skull mask. Being _used_. How... _dare_ he?!

"He knew you would come, and he set a surprise for you," Valestra told him. "There's a bomb in this room. You triggered it's countdown when you opened the door. He's going to kill both of us with one stone. But I won't let it end like this, not this way." Glaring up at it, "Get out of here now, and make him pay. Kill that son of a bitch. And when you do, make sure to give him my regards." Valestra cracked a wry grin at that.

The Phantasm gave it no more thought. With the large paned window before it, it launched itself through the glass and out of the building just as a fireball consumed the room with a loud roar.

* * *

It was going to be a long night. As she had been instructed, Renee Montoya has made contact with the gangster known as Salvatore Valestra, greeting him with an offer of protection. She would not say if she had been surprised or not when the offer was immediately turned down and escorted out of the mobster's home.

That didn't mean she would be leaving anytime soon. Though police protection had been turned down, the stake out that was to be set up in the event of a negative response was in motion. So, for however long it took, she was going to be camping out in front of Valestra's downtown complex.

As the night progressed, the graveyard shift was started, and she found herself being one of the lucky few on duty. A nice, hot, caffeine-loaded drink was what the doctor had ordered, and one she was enjoying as the hours slowly marched by.

Really, this would all be simpler, and maybe a bit more comfortable, had Valestra accepted the offer. Still, it saved her from having to be in that bastard's presence. She had felt like she needed to take a long shower after that meeting.

Those had been the thoughts in her head when she had happened to look up from her position and towards the portion of the building that she knew Valestra was holing up in. As she was taking a sip of the latte she had purchased earlier in the night, she had happened to catch sight of...something.

She had to blink because it looked like someone was jumping out of the building. More specifically jumping out from a large window that definitely belonged to Valestra's penthouse. It was kinda hard to see, but the figure was dark with some...gray she thought.

Any thoughts she had were immediately gone as she witnessed the explosion that followed after the leaping figure. The dark figure was lit up, giving Montoya a better look if one for a couple seconds before she had to shield her eyes..

Though it was several stories above, the loud boom that came with that fire did a number on any ears that happened to be nearby. Hers were not exempt. Though all she could hear was a high pitched, unending ringing, that didn't stop her from getting out of her unmarked car and assessing the situation, as soon as she was able to make sure her eyes hadn't been compromised.

Yep, it was Valestra's place all right. When she had been up there earlier, offering the crime boss police protection, she had noticed a many oxygen tanks in the place. Borderline fire hazard when she had first seen it. For a second, she was worried that somehow those tanks were responsible for the explosion but the fury of the blaze shot that thought down.

Reaching back in the car, she snatched up the radio receiver, and even though her ears were still ringing, she called it in. Because her ears were only starting to allow some sound in, she only spoke, not bothering to wait for any affirmatives that help was on the way. She took notes of and reported in the extent of the blast, trying to make sure no other buildings were in danger of burning down themselves.

Maybe that was why she was able to spot movement directly above her. Stopping in her report, she blinked her eyes repeatedly in attempt to make sure she wasn't seeing anything. No, there was a cape whipping in the air above her all right. Thanks to the fire, she was barely able to tell that the cape was indeed gray.

Though she couldn't hear herself, she let out a breathless swear as it dawned on her.

* * *

Fire consumed the penthouse, lighting up the night with orange and red hues that angrily clawed its way out. On the streets below, first responders were arriving on the scene, cops primarily who were taking charge of evacuating as many people from the building as possible. Ambulances were several blocks away and closing, firetrucks rocketing out of their stations that very second.

Across the street, the Phantasm pulled itself over the ledge of the building, grunting with the effort. Once safely over the ledge, it paid one last gaze towards the inferno behind it.

Fury filled it, but now was not the time to go rushing into it. The man who had engaged it with promises...offers and opportunities to track down the men it desired most to meet…

Betrayal was a hard thing to stomach. Even harder was it to forgive. It now had a new prey. One that presumed it was dead. Good, then when it made itself known, that man would know true fear.

For now, it was time to go before it was spotted. With all the chaos happening, being caught so close to it would not be good. Starting as a jog, it picked up speed into a run, leaping off one rooftop to the next as it made its getaway, a trail of smoke wisping away in its wake.

It was time to disappear.

A whirring sound distracted it, movement in the corner of its eye alerted it, and it came to a stop as a star-shaped shuriken cut through the air in front of it. Whipping its head to its right, it found a costumed woman on the ledge of the building, one arm extended in front of her and the other on the handle of a sword.

"Katana! How many times do I have to tell you not to-oh."

Two more women came into view, coming to a stop as the Phantasm spun to it's left to spot them.

It had company.

* * *

Well, this was definitely different.

Out of nowhere, Katana acted strangely-for her. One minute they were patrolling, the next the red-and-yellow vigilante darted off like a bloodhound on a blood trail. That including blatantly ignoring an out-of-nowhere bombing a few blocks away.

And boy-howdy did Katana find something.

It stood in the middle of the rooftop, a grey cloak enveloping it from sight. From underneath the hood, a skull-like mask stared at Huntress and her crew, blank eyes daring the trio to make a move. Huntress had to admit, if this person was going for a dark, creepy vibe, then they succeeded admirably. However, the dark-haired woman couldn't help but let out the bubble of humor that worked its way up her throat and out of her mouth.

"Hey, Batman called, says he wants his look back."

Okay, that was a little immature, but seriously! If there was anyone encroaching on the Bat's motif, this guy was doing it in spades. Perhaps because she had met the genuine article, she didn't find this newcomer all that frightening. At all. Then again, Katana and Black Canary weren't shaking in their boots either and they weren't exactly familiar enough with their more famous brethren.

"You know, if you want people to start taking us seriously, you should probably think up better insults," Black Canary said, shifting her feet against the gravel on the roof as she set herself into a fighting stance. "Why don't you say, 'Batman did it' and be done with it?"

"Perhaps I should let you make the first impression then, BC," Huntress shot back with no small amount of annoyance in her voice.

Whatever blondie was going to retort, she wasn't able to because a hollow, haunting voice sprung from their dark avenger. "Leave." Okay, that was...creepy and echo-y. "We are not enemies."

Surprisingly, it was Katana who spoke up. "Explain why you leave burning building," she demanded. "You flee like frightened rabbit."

"So Gloomy over there was at the bombing?" Huntress questioned her comrade. "Well why didn't you say so?" Then she directed her next words at their suspect. "If you wouldn't mind answering the woman's question, that would be great."

"That is none of your concern," came the chilly response.

"Sorry, Bat-wannabe, but we disagree. Ya see, we make it our business when someone flees the scene of a crime, especially that barbeque going on behind us. So be a good boy and do yourself a favor: come with us quietly or we're going to have to do things the hard way."

"Well put," Black Canary complimented her.

"Thanks."

Unfortunately, their mystery man wasn't as accepting. The man began backing away from them, putting distance between them, yet never turned his back to the women. Scowl appearing on Huntress' face, she moved a hand up to her belt and detached her crossbow, raising it up and pointing right at the phantom. "Last chance," she shouted.

That at least got the person's attention as they stopped moving, staring the purple-clad woman down. However, that was not a sign of surrender, to which the dark individual replied, "Do your worst."

Well, if that wasn't an invitation she could pass up…

Squeezing the trigger, Huntress fired her crossbow, the bolt flying through the air at an incredible pace. In response, the man tossed open his cloak, revealing a black suit as he threw his arms up and out from his body; though there was one gloved hand, the other was encased with metal and had a rather wicked looking blade jutting from it, which Huntress found very eye-catching. Suddenly, a cloud of thick smoke erupted from nowhere, bathing the man and blocking him from sight just before the arrow reached him. The arrow darted into the cloud, pulling the smoke into its wake at the projectile disappeared from sight.

Then the smoke cloud dissipated as quickly as it appeared, the mystery man reappearing with his arms at his sides, no sign of the arrow in his body. Blinking her eyes owlishly, Huntress stared at the sight of their unharmed fugitive. "So not like Batman," she remarked.

Though dumbfounded, at least her fellow vigilantes weren't as taken back by that trick as the dark-haired woman was. "Katana!" Black Canary commanded with more steel than Huntress thought she had. In response, the Asian woman launched herself towards the phantom, one hand gripping the sheath of her sword. As the distance between them shrank, Katana shot her other hand to her sword hilt and pulled the blade out in a flash of steel.

A sharp _clang!_ echoed through the night as Katana's sword collided with the large hand-blade on the dark-clad man. This didn't shock the woman as she immediately took a step back with her right foot, separating her from her foe for a brief moment before she lunged forward, thrusting the point of her weapon at the phantom. In response, the man jumped to his left, Katana's right, to avoid the thrust.

Without missing a beat, the moment Katana saw the dodge, she twisted her wrist and stopped her forward momentum, swinging her sword again at her opponent, who brought up his hand-blade and blocked the attack. Yet, Huntress found herself frowning. The force of that blow wasn't anywhere near the initial clash, almost as if swinging from an extended stance had halved Katana's power.

Yet, the oriental woman was one step ahead. The moment she had been blocked, she crouched down on her right leg, extending out her left and swung it through the air, kicking the mystery man's legs out right from under him. The man landed hard on the ground, an audible gasp being made as the wind was knocked out of him.

It was then that Black Canary took a running start, racing towards the man before leaping up into the air. Drawing one leg up, bending it at the knee as she extending her other leg straight out, the blonde flew through the air, intending on delivering a flying kick at their opponent.

However, the mystery man recovered much faster than anticipated, rolling to a side just before BC's foot slammed onto the roof where he'd been laying. As the dark-clad man scrambled onto his feet, getting into a crouched position, Black Canary bent her grounded leg to absorb the shock of her missed blow. At the same time, she leaned to a side away from her opponent and lashed out with her previously bent leg, smashing the bottom of her boot right in the man's masked face. The force of the hit jerked his head back, causing them to fall back over on their back.

This time, however, the man used his fall to his advantage, rolling to the top of his shoulders as he swung his legs up into the air. Using his momentum, he rolled feet over head, flipping up onto his feet as his cloak fell over his body.

Katana then launched into a barrage of slashes, her sword slicing through the air towards her opponent. In response, the man blocked each and every strike with his hand-blade, his dark arm a matching blur to Katana. Each collision rang out as the two combatants circled each other, the Asian vigilante on constant offense and the mystery man on defense.

And then, as the man blocked another sword strike, he pushed Katana's sword upward and shot his gloved hand towards the woman. A cloud of thick smoke burst from the hand, blowing right into Katana's face and immediately causing her to begin coughing up lungs up.

It was about then that Huntress realized she was being left out of all the action. Well, that just wouldn't do. Holstering her empty crossbow, she pulled out her retracted bow staff and flick the switch for both ends to extend. Giving a practiced twirl with the staff, the dark-haired woman charged to the mystery man, letting out a war cry once she drew close enough to swing her weapon at the guy's head.

Instantly, the dark-clad man jerked backwards, dodging the swing. Stepping forward, Huntress tried a backswing, only to have her foe step back as well. Changing tactics, the purple-clad vigilante began jabbing the end of her staff at the man, shouting, "Ha!" with every strike. In turn, the mystery man bobbed and weaved, avoiding the jabs easily.

Okay, this was getting old. Feeling her irritation welling up with her, Huntress tried one last jab before she gave up on the barrage; however, she was surprised when the mystery man moved to his right and promptly shot his hand out to grab onto her bow staff. Jerking it to a side, he left the dark-haired woman wide open for an attack, which he took advantage of as he raised his large scythe-like blade up and swung it down at her head.

Suddenly, Black Canary was at her side, standing on one leg and leaning back, her other leg extend extremely high up. The blonde's foot collided with the arm attachment of the blade, blocking the blow. Realizing what just happened, Huntress immediately dove to a side, away from BC, which gave her all the room she needed to bend her grounded leg at the knee before pushing up.

Jumping up, Black Canary used her upper leg to push aside the phantom man's bladed hand while she swung her other leg up. With terrible power, the blonde slammed her foot into the side of the mystery man's face, causing his head to snap to a side as his balance was thrown off and he began to stumble. This also had the added benefit of him losing his grip on Huntress' bow staff, which she immediately pulled back to her, gripping it with both hands.

As the phantom guy regained his balance and began to turn back to face the two women, Huntress charged at him once more. Keeping low, she leapt upwards once she had closed the distance between them, shoving her staff up under his chin. Due to her momentum, she pushed the man right off his feet and sent him falling backwards onto the roof, the vigilante swinging her legs up over her head as she flipped in midair. Tucking her legs in, Huntress came to a landing soon after, crouching down a good couple of feet above her opponent, who just stayed lying on the ground. It was about damn time too if you asked her.

However, the moment she heard crunching gravel, Huntress growled lowly under her breath. Spinning around, she found the dark-clad man getting back on his feet, which only furthered her annoyance. Seriously, what did it take to take this guy down? "Hey, Phantom Menace, enough's enough," she barked, gesturing with the end of her staff at him.

Suddenly, BC was at her side. "Looks like it'll take more than just a throat strike to take him down," she said blandly.

"No kidding," Huntress retorted. "Here's the plan: I'll take him from the front and you broadside him. Don't let up until his bones are jelly, got it?"

"Aye, aye, captain," the blonde responded, a hint of amusement in her voice.

Again, the purple-clad woman launched herself forward, beginning to twirl her bow staff at her side as she did so. Out of the corner of her eye, she caught sight of Black Canary circling to her left before dashing at the phantom guy. As the man settled into a defensive stance, the dark-haired woman couldn't help but gloat about how this guy wouldn't know what hit him.

And then, the smoke cloud reappeared, enveloping the man. Already at full-speed, Huntress plowed into the smoke, blinding and suffocating herself with the thick smoke. The next thing she knew, she exploding out the other side of the cloud, completely stupefied in not actually hitting anything, which was then replaced with her coughing harshly. A moment later, she heard the same thing happened to Black Canary, the blonde coughing just as bad as her.

Okay, what the hell happened? Huntress had been running at top speed; there was no way phantom guy could've dodge her at that range even with a smokescreen. They should have collided with each other or something. However, the longer she coughed, the more she came to care less about that and became more concerned with how disoriented she was beginning to feel.

And now she was beginning to feel the first signs of a headache coming on, how perfect. Shaking her head, which caused her dark hair to brush against her shoulders and back, Huntress turned to look around to try and find phantom guy. The smoke cloud was dissipating, but there wasn't any sign of him there, which irritated her. Okay, it was time to regroup. Time to…

What was that?

Something moved out of the corner of her eye. Jerking her head to a side, she spotted something big and black flying through the night sky, slowly approaching her and her friends. Putting her full attention on it, Huntress watched as the black thing descended through the air until it landed on the ledge of the building. Even as she stared at it, she found herself having a hard time describing it; in fact, she couldn't. Her heart began to beat faster the longer she stared at it, a lump forming in her throat, which she swallowed down hard. For some reason, she did not like looking at this thing, whatever it was. It made her feel uncomfortable and...and anxious...and...and…

Scared.

* * *

So this was the murderous vigilante.

Perched on the edge of the building, Batman stared down his dark counterpart, taking note of the hood and cloak ensemble, particularly the scythe blade on his hand. From a distance, he could understand why everyone was confusing him and this murderer, what with their choice in dark-colored uniforms. As far as he was concerned though, that was where the similarities between them ended. In Batman's mind, this person looked more like a ghost or a wraith.

The sudden bombing had gotten his and Zatanna's attention. Yet, while Zana was busy checking for survivors in the burning building, Batman had caught sight of a fleeing figure along the rooftops and gave chase.

Judging by the wraith's stance and body language, he was surprised by the vigilante's entrance; in fact, the person wanted to flee more than anything. However, he wasn't alone as Huntress and her comrades were also present, though for some reason they appeared to be holding themselves back. Strange…

Returning his attention to the wraith, Batman said, "This is the end of the line. Surrender now."

"Stay back!" the wraith's deep, hollow voice demanded, taking a step back. "This is not your fight!"

The dark-clad man narrowed his eyes. "It is now."

Unfortunately, the desired fight wasn't to be. A _clang!_ sound was made, one Batman was way too familiar with. Shooting a hand up first, he clenched his fingers together just in time to grab a long, thin shaft. There was a brief moment of friction, the heat from it being felt through his gloves, before it stopped entirely. Turning his head, the vigilante found the tip of an arrow mere inches away from his face, just as he suspected.

With a scowl, he tossed the arrow away, looking towards his shooter and finding Huntress, who was hurriedly reloading her crossbow. What the devil was she doing?

Taking in the sight of the purple-clad woman, Batman found himself narrowing his eyes. There was something off about her, the way she was looking at him, the almost frantic motions of her arms and hands as she retrieved another arrow and loaded it onto her crossbow. This wasn't a cool, collected woman.

A hissing sound tore his sights away from Huntress then, returning it to the mysterious wraith as a thick cloud of smoke began enveloping him. Instantly, Batman launched himself at the growing cloud, reaching it the moment the dark individual disappeared within its depths. A second later he plowed right through the smoke cloud, emerging on the other side empty-handed.

Okay, that was a neat trick. What the hell did he go?

Taking in a deep breath, a disorienting sensation began to fill his head. He could feel his heart begin to beat faster and his vision seemed to blur at the edges. Yet, the dark-clad man recognized this feeling. He'd felt it before back at the Phizer robbery with Crane. Yet there wasn't any of Crane's gas anywhere, so how could it…

The vigilante found himself jerking his head around to the dissipating smoke cloud. That had to be it. Crane's gas was in that smoke and he had inadvertently breathed it in during his failed attempt at capturing the wraith. And if he had been exposed, then it was entirely possible that…

Quickly turning his attention back to Huntress, he re-assessed her and quickly concluded that, yes, she had inhaled some of the smoke. Even though she was pointing her crossbow at him, it wasn't with her usual steadiness, her arm trembling with what was no doubt anxiety. Taking into account what the Dark Knight had seen when he fought her and her comrades, there was no doubt in his mind that she was seeing something equally as scary.

Immediately, Batman sought out the other two Birds, spotting the blonde Black Canary nearby Huntress, the woman standing in a defensive stance, both arms raised up before her ready to defend herself. However, the other woman, Katana was nowhere in—

 _There!_ Fast reflexes were his only saving grace as he leapt to a side, just in time to avoid a downward slash as Katana landed on the ground where he had previously been standing, her sword clanging on the roof. Shooting a hand up, he pressed all of his fingers together as he said, "Wait."

In response he heard a _twang!_ and instantly, Batman jerked his head to a side, barely able to avoid the arrow flying by his head. Eyes shooting from Katana to Huntress, that left the dark-clad man blind to Black Canary right up until she was off to his right, swinging a fist that nailed him in the side of the head.

Well, he had to give them credit. They were good at fighting as a team.

Head jerking around as spit flew from his mouth, Batman found himself looking at Katana who was backing away, holding her weapon low and at the ready. No doubt she would attack him from behind if he turned his back to her, something the vigilante had no desire to do.

Shooting an arm up, he blocked Black Canary's second punch, forcing his head back to look at her while he darted backwards and away from the other Birds. As long as he kept them all in front of him, they couldn't launch an unsuspecting attack at his blind side. This left him blocking and parrying as the blonde woman launched into a barrage of punches, each one aimed for his head and shoulders. For every step backwards he took, she took one forward, always aiming a fist at his face. With so many high blows, it made Batman weary of a set-up, that Black Canary wanted him focused on his upper body, leaving his lower half unguarded.

It was time to change that.

Seeing another punch coming, Batman crouched down and sent his forearm up, using a high block to stop the blow. Pushing downward and leaning backwards, Batman swung his feet up, the toes of his boots connecting with Black Canary's chin as he flipped, snapping her head backwards and knocking her off her feet. Shooting his hands above his head, he landed with them on the ground, bending his arm at the elbow before pushing off the roof once more, launching him back into the air to complete the flip.

Meanwhile, in midair, he shot his hands to his belt and retrieved a bat-shaped shuriken with both hands, landing on his feet with the projectiles ready to be thrown. The first thing he saw was Black Canary lying on the ground, turned on her side as she propped her upper body up on one arm, the hand of her other rubbing her chin. Katana was the second person he saw and she hadn't budged from her position. The same could be said of Huntress, but she had her crossbow reloaded and aimed right at him.

She fired.

His reaction was instantaneous. With a swing of his arm, he sent one of his bat-shaped shuriken flying towards the crossbow bolt, the two projectiles colliding with each other in midair and knocking each other off-course. Surprise appeared on Huntress' face at the sight, the same for the other two women, which blinded them to the second shuriken Batman threw. Sailing through the air, the vigilante watched as it arced towards its target and slammed into the temple of Huntress, a cry tearing from her lips as she jerked backwards and collapsed to the ground. When she didn't move, Batman knew his throw had been true and the dark-haired woman was effectively unconscious.

That left the other two, neither of which the dark-clad man was all that interested in fighting much further. Once more, his hands went to his belt, retrieving decent-sized balls in both of them. "Sorry, I don't' have all night to play with you," he apologized before he tossed both balls to Black Canary and Katana. Each ball landed at the women's feet, Katana looking down at to the ground as Black Canary shifted herself to look at the one rolling towards her. A second later, green gas spewed out of the halls with a high-pitched hiss. Immediately, both women let out startled cries, which were quickly followed by coughing. Then...nothing except the slumping of Black Canary's body and the dropping of Katana's.

And that was that.

Reaching to his cowl, Batman activated his comm. "Zana."

There was a moment of silence before, _"You have some impeccable timing, you know that? I just finished with the search. Not too many people were in there."_

That was good news at least. "I have something else for you. I need you to pick up the Crane antidote for me."

" _Don't tell me, you found some more of that stuff,"_ the woman sighed resignedly on the other end. _"And you just had to smell it yourself to make sure you knew what it was."_

"Not me," he lied, "but someone else. I'm sending you the address of where I'm taking them. I'll meet you there."

" _Them?"_ she questioned. _"As in more than one?"_ There was a pause before, _"Never mind. Just tell me why you have to move them?"_

"Because we're going to have a talk and it's not one for the ears of others."

* * *

 **Author's Note** **:** I thought it was a neat idea to give the Phantasm a genderless identity/persona. An it, instead of a he or a she. It was...interesting to write that way but I think it came out good. Any thoughts about it? A dumb idea? An interesting idea? Let myself and my coauthor know. Now, we're about halfway through this thing but there are still plenty of twists ahead so stick around.


	16. We Need to Talk

We Need to Talk

While Gotham dealt with tomorrow's front page headline, activity outside of a military base located approximately three hours from the city was doing its best to go unnoticed.

In a hangar, a soldier grumbled to himself as he had to do his night patrol in here of all places. It was boring as shit, and why the hell did he need to guard some stinking helicopters of all things? They weren't going anywhere, and who was going to try and take one anyway?

They sure didn't put this part on the poster. See the world, kick some ass, and guard some helicopters. Exciting stuff here.

Yeah, it was so exciting, he was leaning against one of the aircrafts, struggling not to get some shut eye while on duty. It was late at night, okay? People should be sleeping, not watching some dumb helicopters. Why'd he have piss off the sergeant again? Oh wait, that's right, the guy was a major dick.

Actually, that had the makings of a joke there.

At the sound of footsteps, the soldier looked up, spotted a fellow brother-in-arms dressed in combat fatigues with his rifle at ease. He nodded his head at the other man, giving a grunt in greeting.

"Slow night?" the other soldier smirked at him.

"I'd liked to be sleeping," he grumbled back. "Tell me why anybody has to be watching these damn things. It's not like they're going to walk away or anything. Waste of time."

"You can sleep when you're dead," the other soldier replied.

"I ain't dying any time soon," he retorted. "Not like I'm going to be seeing any action anyway."

The other soldier grunted before looking around him. "Hey, maybe they can help you."

"Huh?" That was weird. Still, the soldier looked behind him and dropped his jaw in shock at what he saw.

Somehow, he didn't know how, there were two guys standing near the tail end of the helicopter he was leaning against. Both had jackets and jeans, and while they looked like average schmoes, what really stood out was that they were wearing animal masks. The one on the left had on a tiger mask. snout in a snarl, and the one on the left had on a duck mask.

And in the man with the duck mask's hand was gun with a silencer on it.

The muffled bang almost escaped the soldier's hearing, but that didn't matter as a bullet was entering his brain, giving him permission to go to sleep at last.

The masked men barely gave the fallen soldier a glance as they turned their attention to the other soldier who was busy pulling on a deer mask, informing the intruders of his allegiance.

"It's clear. The rest of the boys are about to come down with some food poisoning and the watch is about to take a nice long nap.

"Thirty minutes," the man in the tiger mask stated. "We don't want to overstay our welcome. Just in case."

"Let's get our delivery men," the man in the duck mask chuckled as he turned his masked face towards the helicopters.

From the shadows, other masked men snuck out to the helicopters, several in combat fatigues as well. Opening the hangar doors, more masked men rolled in dollies, maneuvering them towards the aircraft. With some effort, they began moving the helicopters out of the hangar and into the open where it was easier to fly them out of the base.

Throughout the moving, other members of the False Face Society got to work on the insides of the aircrafts, removing the transponders from within so as to prevent anyone from trying to track them down. It would be a bitch if the feds came down on them all because they neglected this small but important piece of electronic equipment. As soon as one helicopter was cleared, two masked men activated and flew the vehicle out of the base. With the men and women in uniform otherwise occupied, who would stop them?

The theft would not be discovered until the next morning, when it was too late. The Society would pay it no mind to the panic that followed, after all, it wasn't like those guys were using these sweet ass toys of theirs. Black Mask was certain to put them to better use.

* * *

The ladies had made a wise choice in picking hideouts. A destitute place like this, no one would suspect the hidden treasures inside.

Unfortunately for them, the Birds of Prey had been counting on common gang thugs and mafia men to be looking for them. They hadn't considered the Batman would seek them out.

Currently said women were sprawled on a couch; to be more precise, a bed folded out of the couch and that was what they were lying on, the couch cushions stacked on the floor nearby. The Dark Knight had moved one of their chairs and positioned it along the wall facing them.

Following their early skirmish, Batman had hauled them to their headquarters via the car. Though a two-seater, what would be considered the backseat had been remodeled into a large compartment fit for two in the event he had to transport people in need of an emergency room. Fortunately this was the first time he had to use it.

After arriving at the so-called "Birdcage," and then settling the women down on the makeshift bed, Zatanna had appeared in an explosion of smoke, antidote in hand. _"Three?!"_ the magician had exclaimed upon seeing them. _"What is it with you and women?"_

That...was completely uncalled for and Batman gave it the attention it was due-meaning very little. After administering the antidote, he had Zatanna remove all of the Birds' supplies and extra weapons. They had a talk coming and the vigilante preferred that they do it without additional ammunition.

That just left him waiting for them to come to. With Zana waiting with the car, something she seemed more than willing to do as she had huffed and left the room, Batman just watched the steady rise and fall of their respective chests.

Thankfully, it was Huntress who came to. With a groan as a hand went to her head-no doubt rubbing the lump that was forming there-the dark-haired woman slowly pushed herself up, clenching her teeth together as one of her legs slid back and bent upward at the knee. With her other hand, she had it pressed onto the mattress to hold herself up as she tried to collect her senses.

The moment she looked forward and saw him seated in the chair, she froze. The two of them stayed that way, Batman boring his sights into Huntress as she stared with eyes wide open. Then, her hand dropped to her belt to grab something-her crossbow perhaps, or one of those rounded, H-shaped shuriken.

She found neither, which caused her to drop her eyes down to her waist, where her belt was conspicuously missing. Already her mind was frantically trying to place all the pieces together, something Batman felt inclined to spare her. "It's been awhile, Bertinelli," he greeted.

Once more she froze, her dark eyes slowly sliding back to him. "It's you," she whispered, almost as if she were afraid he'd disappear. "You're back. You're really back."

"I am," he acknowledged her. "Don't worry about your belt. I put all of them in a safe place. I wanted to talk with you and your...team."

Huntress jerked her head to a side, spotting Black Canary and Katana still unconscious, lying beside her. "What did you do to them?" she demanded.

"Knock-out gas. They should be coming out of it soon."

Again, the purple-clad woman returned her sights to him, still looking at him as if he were a ghost, afraid that if she did or said anything else, he'd vanished before her eyes. Honestly, it wasn't a look becoming of her.

And then there was a spark in her eyes and the fire returned. There, that was the Helena Bertinelli he knew. Had known. "Why now?" she demanded furiously. "Why come back after all this time?"

His answer was succinct. "Gotham needed me."

She snorted in derision. Sliding her legs to the side of the bed, she set them on the floor and stood up, her profile to him as her hands clenched tightly into fists. "Gotham needed you three years ago when you left. It's needed you all this time."

"So I've been told."

She turned her head, her scowl firmly fixated on her face. "Then you know 'Gotham needs me' isn't going to cut it, especially after that stunt you pulled at the Jokerz riot. Me and the Birds had that under control until you butted in and attacked everyone."

"I'm sure you would have," Batman said, which caught the woman off guard as she dropped her glare. "And there's no excuse for that. However, that is at the heart of what we need to discuss, the four of us. After all, I'm sure you saw something tonight. Something big, dark...scary…"

"If you're talking about yourself, think again," Huntress grumbled.

"Did it have teeth?" Batman pressed undeterred. "Sharp, gleaming teeth. Giant wings? Long, wicked looking claws?"

That caused the purple-clad vigilante to pause. "You...you saw it too?" she questioned softly.

"No, I didn't, because it was all a figment of your imagination." Upon seeing Huntress' scowl return, he held a hand up to stop her retort. "But I do know why you saw it and I'll happily explain once your teammates wake up."

"You know, I forgot just how charming you could be," the dark-haired woman said as she moved over to a nearby wall, turning to lean her back against it as she crossed her arms over her chest. "Some things never change, do they?"

"More than you would know."

"Meaning?"

As fun as being cryptic was, there were other things that the Dark Knight could better spend his time. He and Huntress were falling back into their previous relationship, one where she resented him and he was irritated with her. That was sort of comforting considering how the city around them changed. "Where did you find your partners?"

Huntress glanced to the other women impassively before looking back to him. "Not any of your business."

That was expected. "How about the other group?"

"Other?" the woman questioned before it dawned on her who he meant. "Oh, them." She snorted. "The 'Batclan.' I swear, could they have picked a cornier name?"

"What do you know about them?"

Again she snorted. "There's nothing I could tell you that you don't already know. You dug into pasts just like you did me." She then jerked her chin towards her partners. "And them too, most likely."

Batman nodded. "You're right. I just wanted your take on them."

That gave her pause. "Since when do you care about my opinion?"

"As you've said, I've been gone awhile. Gotham isn't the same as it was," he explained calmly. "You have a better idea of how things are running than I do."

Huntress stared at him, unsure how to take that. "I'm not sure if that was a compliment or not," she said slowly.

Unfortunately, they didn't go much further as there was another groan. Shifting their attentions from one another, they saw Black Canary pushing herself up, followed by Katana. It was nearly a recreation of Huntress' awakening as the two sat up groaning and then freezing upon seeing him. Thankfully, Huntress decided to head them off before they went scrambling for their weapons. "About time you two woke up."

The two jerked their heads over to their comrade and looked at her in disbelief before it sunk into their heads that they were not in danger. However, Batman was quick to note how Katana kept a hand at her waist, right where her sword and sheath usually hung.

"H?" Black Canary asked, her eyes going back and forth between Huntress and Batman. "What's going on here?"

"The Bat wants to talk," the purple-clad woman answered nonchalantly. She then leveled him with dull, uninterested eyes. "So start talking."

When he was sure he had the room's full attention, Batman stood up from the chair, letting his cape envelope him. "Earlier tonight the three of you were given a dose of a hallucinogenic fear toxin. As Huntress indicated to me just before the two of your awoke, you were seeing a creature that struck fear in you and you attacked. That creature was me."

That definitely earned him Huntress' interest, along with the other women. "How you know of this?" Katana inquired, slowly moving towards the edge of the bed so she could stand.

"Because I was exposed to the same gas not that long ago. In fact, I was under its effect the night of the Jokerz riot, which is why I attacked you."

"So how were you exposed?" Huntress asked, shifting her weight from one leg to another.

Batman turned his head slightly to gaze at her. "A man called Jonathan Crane used it on me at a break-in at a chemical plant. He's currently in custody-"

"So if he's the one that made it, then how the heck were we exposed?" the dark-haired woman then demanded.

"The phantom," Katana immediately answered, cutting the Dark Knight off before he could reply. This earned her his attention. It seemed she was quite sharp, her weapon of choice notwithstanding. "That is only person who has used gas against us."

"She's right," Batman agreed. "It was in the smoke he used to disappear. I detected the same effects when I came into contact with it."

"So how do we beat this gas?" Black Canary spoke up. "I mean, how long does it last?"

"You won't have to worry about it," the dark-clad vigilante replied. "After our fight, I gave the three of you the antidote. It should provide some protection should you be exposed to the fear toxin again, but I'm not sure about how long that'll last."

"Why am I not surprised," Huntress grumbled more to herself.

"I guess, thanks?" the blonde woman then said. "I mean, we do owe you for this. If there's-"

"Anything you can do?" Batman interrupted her. "Preferably I want you off the streets."

Huntress' scowl returned in full force. "Not this ag-" she started to snarl.

Only for him to cut her off like Black Canary. "But I noticed how well you three work together. If any of you are out in the streets, it's better off together than alone. I'm willing to...extend some leeway for your operation. Just stay out of my way."

When he saw none of the women were about to speak, he then shifted his cape off of one shoulder, extending an arm out and holding out Katana's sword. With a toss, he threw it to the Asian woman, who deftly caught it. "The rest of your equipment will be returned to you by morning," he continued as he turned and strode towards the exit.

He didn't quite make it though, coming to a stop when he heard Huntress say, "Just one thing. Why did you leave? You can at least tell us that."

For a moment, Batman felt the urge to ignore her question; yet, another, stronger part felt more willing to answer. So he did. "I died," he replied before he walked to the door and shoved it open, striding through the doorway and letting the door swing shut behind him.

While it went against everything he felt, it was better that these three, these Birds of Prey stayed together. If they were insistent about being vigilantes, safety in numbers was better than a few weekend warriors running about. Aside from breaking some kneecaps and legs, the dark-clad man didn't have many other options to stop them. Hopefully he wouldn't regret not shutting them down.

" _Well, well, looks like someone's learned to talk with others,"_ Zatanna said teasingly through the comm.

"Enjoy it while it lasts," Batman grunted back. "We have one more place to go and then we'll call it a night."

" _Sounds good to me. Where are we going?"_

* * *

Barbara knew taking that chemistry class would pay off someday. She hadn't expected it to pay off so soon or in the way it was paying off, but she wasn't ungrateful about it.

The...stuff that had been in that truck was something she had never seen before. The chemical composition, she vaguely recognized the atomic structure, but the molecular structure was so complex that it left her in the dark. All that ended up telling her was that whoever made this stuff was a smart son of a bitch who happened to be a genius in chemistry.

Now what it did, she was still trying to figure that out.

What she lacked in her chemistry education, she more than made up for with her technological prowess. She had what the youth out there called "mad computer skillz," meaning that coming up with a program that could simulate what this stuff did was within her abilities.

Skipping over a bunch of large and complicated words, the program was telling her that the stuff had a bonding component to it, as well as something about receptors. Translation, the program couldn't figure it out. Or at least, it couldn't explain what the stuff did in a way that made sense to her.

It was aggravating because this was her element here and she was failing. Dick and Tim-ahem-Nightwing and Robin were waiting to hear back from her, no doubt wanting some good news. I.e., what this stuff did. And she couldn't tell them. Yeah.

She hadn't expected this. When she had finally started with her night job as one of Gotham's numerous vigilantes, she had expected to do only the following: find crooks, beat them up, leave them for the cops to arrest, rinse, and repeat. Yes, some fighting skills were necessary, and careful observation and deduction concluded some sweet toys like the Batman used were also needed. Other than that, what else was there?

The closest to mysterious substances she ever expected to come close to were drugs. For example, new synthetic drugs making a big hit on the market, or, or, or bath salts!

This...stuff, whatever it was, she never in her wildest dreams imagined coming across it. Before anyone asks, that computer simulation wasn't the only thing she had done. Once she had managed to figure out the molecular structure, she began comparing to all sorts of things, including a lot of nerve gases and poisons. Nothing. Nada.

She was _this_ close to pulling out her hair in frustration.

Glancing at the bottom right corner of her computer screen and spying the small clock there telling her that it was way too late to be up at night, she figured that now would be a good time to get some rest. Hey, maybe if she was lucky, all this would start making some sense to her. First, she was going to give her third and fourth favorite guys in the city a call and let them know what was going on on her end.

Calling up Nightwing was simpler as the oldest member of their trio lived alone. Robin, on the other hand, still had his parents around so small talk was going to be necessary to mask their communication. Thanks to the wonders of technology and conference call, she could give them both a ring at the same time and get this all over at once.

Robin picked up first, and on the second ring too, allowing her to get started with their cover in case the other's dad was lurking around. Generally, talk about homework from school was a good distractor. Also gave Nightwing time to pick up on his end. He picked up after the fourth, almost forcing them onto voicemail.

"I'm here, I'm...oh, you're doing that still," Nightwing greeted.

"Just a minute," Barbara told him while Robin continue to babble in the background.

"Okay, I think we're clear," Robin said abruptly, his voice lowered. "What do you have?"

Judging by how he was talking, Robin was trying to make sure no one overheard him. It was most likely in their best interest to get straight to the point.

"I don't have anything," she stated. "Whoever made this stuff knew what they were doing. This is some high level chemistry we're talking about."

"What were you able to figure out?" Nightwing pressed.

"The best that I found out is that it's a bonding agent," she answered. "What it binds to, I haven't figured out. It's structure does not match anything that's on record so I can't tell you how bad it is, if it is something bad."

"Is it some kind of acid?" Robin wondered.

"No, it's not even acidic. It's closer to a base," she replied. "Almost in neutral territory if anything."

"Meaning it's not going to be melting our insides," Nightwing commented. "That's one less thing to worry about."

"Outside of giving a field test and exposing it to a population, which we're _not_ going to do, I don't think I'll be figuring out anything new about it tonight." Holding the phone to one ear, she stretched her other arm and felt a few of her joints pop. Ah, felt so good right there…

"Yeah, I think that's the last thing we want to do," Nightwing agreed. "Hmm, you think the police might have something like that?"

"This is some pretty advanced stuff here. I doubt the Gotham police have something like this rotting in the evidence locker." Glancing at the clock again, she had a thought that her father hadn't come home yet. Well, there was that explosion they heard earlier. He was probably still dealing with that. Poor guy.

"Maybe we can look up some guys, like the kind who do some of this advanced chemistry," Robin suggested. "There might be a few of them at the university. We could pay one a visit and have him or her figure it out for us."

"We don't have the kind of clout that Batman does. It's a good idea, though. Maybe I could copy the chemical structure down and show it to a few people," Barbara mused. "Just say I found it on the ground somewhere and was wondering what it was."

"You do that. I gotta go," Robin said. "Also, wait till morning next time, if you're going to call this late. Dad was walking by when my phone rang."

"You do what you gotta do," Nightwing told him. "We'll take care of things on our end."

With that, Robin hung up and then there were two.

"How're you holding up?" Nightwing asked, losing a little bit of his professionalism. "You're not stressing too much because you couldn't figure out what this stuff is?"

Damn, he knew her a bit too well. "I want to pull my hair out," she confessed. "What have we stumbled on, Dick? I mean-"

"Look, no one's going to be knocking down our doors, looking to kill us for taking whatever this is. No one knows who we are, or at least what our day jobs are."

"I wasn't worried about that." She smiled crookedly at that. "I feel like I'm not pulling my weight here. This is my thing here and I'm not doing what I need to do."

"We're not like those super people who came here a while ago. We don't have super powers or the computers that can figure out everything. We're just using what we have available and there isn't anything wrong with that. We'll find out what this stuff is and then we'll come up with what we need to do about it. How about you get some rest? You'll think better in the morning."

"Yeah, guess I'll take a shower first," she sighed.

"Do you need any-"

"No, stay at your place. I think I can handle a shower," she chuckled. "Later."

With a press of a button, she hung up, slouching back in her seat while giving an annoyed glare at the computer. Yeah, let's call it a night. Plus that shower she had been talking about was sounding like a really good idea right now.

Shutting down the computer, she stretched her arms one last time before heading to the bathroom, ridding herself of the loose clothing she was wearing.

When the warm water was rushing down and flowing all around her body, oh that was so nice. The only thing that would be better right now is if this was a bath where she could lay back and relax, allowing the heat of the water to relax all her muscles whether they wanted to or not. This was a close second, though.

A good fifteen minutes later and after cleaning up, she was heading back to her bedroom, drying her hair out with a towel. The moment she reached her bed, she was going to flop right down on it and go all dead from the neck up. She was more tired than she had thought.

As soon as she entered her room, all exhaustion vanished as she came to a sudden stop, eyes almost bulging out of her skull. While Nightwing had told her that no one was going to be breaking down her door to kill her, this was something neither of them had expected.

Standing in the center of her room, all in black and holding a certain photo album was none other than perhaps her first favorite guy in the whole city. A man whom had inspired her to don on a mask and go out to fight crime on a nightly basis. The man who had saved her life years ago from a short, ugly, balding megalomaniac with delusions of grandeur.

White eyes looked up at her as if expecting her to have shown up at any moment, no surprise registering in them whatsoever.

"Batgirl, we need to talk."


	17. What You Least Expect

What You Least Expect

Oh.

My.

God.

It was him, truly him! The Batman! And he was in her room! Her room! And holding a photo album. That photo album. The one she still made a habit of actively hiding from her father. Oh. That wasn't good.

What would he think? In that album was every article she could painstakingly find that followed the dark vigilante's crime-fighting career from the very beginning to the present day. Well, almost. There were all the articles about him being a murderer right now, but she didn't believe any of them.

Plus there was all those copycats out there, not including her and the Batclan. No, she fully believed that whoever was responsible wasn't the man who saved her from Oswald Cobblepot. She knew the man who guarded her from almost certain death, who had countless chances to kill every punk he came across would _never_ go on to commit that act.

The Batman did not kill. Period.

None of that changed the fact that he was now standing in her room. Her room! And, oh god, she had just gotten out of the shower too! This was not the way to make an impression on this guy. No way.

Wait a second. What had he called her? Oh shit.

"What do you mean…?" She was proud that her voice did not crack right there.

"Don't play games." It was a simple order, and Barbara found herself straightening her back as if she was a soldier in the army. "I know what you've been doing."

She swallowed. "How…?"

"You keep your costume in a box under your bed," the Batman answered her, sparing no humility.

Yeah, that probably wasn't the best place to put it, but it wasn't like there were any floorboards in her room. In fact, the other cliche hiding places weren't available and it wasn't like she could keep it at Dick's-ahem, Nightwing's place. Actually, now that she thought about it, that wasn't a bad idea, unless you counted the commute.

Another time to solve that issue though. There were more important things right now.

"Why are you here?" she asked.

"Like I said. To talk."

Her eyes drifted downwards to the album he still held. "Is any of it about that?"

"No."

Well, that was relieving. One less thing to worry about. "What do you want to talk about?" She was starting to get the hang of talking to him now.

"Ending your late night shenanigans."

Shenanigans? What was he… Oh. Now she got it. It was like a bucket of ice water had fallen on her. She already knew what she was going to answer in case this came up.

"Not going to happen," she stated, ready to stand her ground.

He advanced a step, looming over her. Her confidence took a blow from that simple move. "Yes, it is."

"Why?" she asked warily.

"Because you're in over your head. This isn't some fun adventure you're having with your friends; this is dangerous and it will get you hurt, injured if you're lucky. Dead if you're not."

"We know already. We still choose to do this," she retorted, not willing to give in. "We all decided in our own way that we wanted to help. Whether you like it or not, we're not going to give up just because you tell us to."

"And if your father found out?"

Wow. Talk about taking the wind out of her sails there. She didn't think that he would go around her back and tell her dad, who happened to be the commissioner of the entire police force in Gotham, about what she was doing while he was out late at work. From the way he was looking at her, she had a feeling that he would.

"Let me guess. If I don't stop, you're going to tell my dad, aren't you?" Barbara accused.

"If I have to." There was a finality in his tone, as if he was drawing his line in the sand and daring her to cross it, complete with Bat glare and everything. "Of the three of you, you're the one with the most to lose. I don't have to tell you what the mob does to those who oppose them and their families. For the sake of you and your father, stop."

"What about you? Haven't you opposed the mob and what have they done to you?" the redhead retorted, starting to feel some anger here. How dare he bring her father into this?

"And in their place a psychopath came and destroyed half the city," Batman retorted. "Twice. It's better they come after someone like me, not you."

Maybe it was what he was saying, but something was bubbling in the back of her head, something her father said. _The Batman has no friends, he can't._ That was something her father said years ago. And that last time she had saw him, while out on patrol. That's right, there had been someone else with him. Someone who wasn't concealing her identity.

"What about that friend of yours? The woman in the top hat? Is it not dangerous for her?"

"She can hold her own with the likes of Superman and Wonder Woman," he replied. "She can handle herself just fine."

Okay, hadn't known that but it was good to know. Funny how Nightwing had mentioned those guys in their call earlier.

"You have everything covered, don't you?" she asked quietly.

Silent treatment. That hard stare that could make grown men piss in their pants. She was starting to feel like her father now, or at least what she thought her father felt like. Unable to bear the gaze, she looked away, her eyes landing on her computer, a reminder of tonight's other failure.

Well, maybe she could bring it up to him. Maybe he could find out what it was. "There's something I need to ask," she began slowly. "I know you don't like it, but we were out tonight and we came across something, we don't know what it is. There was a truckload of it, don't worry we hid it, but it's weird. Let me show you."

Still feeling the Batman's gaze, she booted up her computer, urging it to hurry because she was really not liking the way he was looking at her. Made her feel like she was one of the thugs he beat up on a nightly basis. Once the computer was up, she opening up the programs she had closed earlier, moving aside to give him a better look at it.

"I managed to figure out the composition of the stuff but I still don't know what it is or what it does. It doesn't match up to any of the chemical weapons out there and the only thing I know it does is that it binds to something. You have any ideas?"

She felt his presence behind her, getting a better look at the monitor. And then he stepped back. "Where did you find this?"

"It was being dropped off at a factory, close to downtown. 1826 Sycamore, boulevard, not avenue."

"Stay away from it."

Whether he knew it or not, that told her a lot.

"You know what this stuff is." It was a statement, not a question. She turned to face him and received the Batman equivalent of the "no, duh" face. "I'll bite, what does it do?"

Silence.

Oh, so he wasn't going to tell her, eh? Well, she had at least one last trick up her sleeve.

Walking to her dresser, she opened a drawer and rifled through the contents. While Nightwing had been against it, that hadn't stopped her from taking one of the small canisters they had found in the truck. She would admit, not the smartest idea she had but since the Batman knew of this stuff, he definitely was going to want to see this.

She held it out to him. "There's a lot more of this stuff in the truck. You can take this, there's plenty more where that came from."

"Where's the truck?" A bit of a demand there, but Barbara was getting a little tired of this.

"In a place no one will find it." How's that for a short answer?

Now she was getting a full dose of what the internet called the Bat Glare. Okay, her legs were almost like noodles at this point but she was going to stand her ground. Even if it was against her hero.

"I'll tell you this. Once I'm sure that's stuff not the streets anymore, I'll hang up the costume and never put it on again. It would be irresponsible of me to leave and ignore it when I know there's more of it out there, somewhere."

"This is your last warning." He was not happy with that. "If I find you out there, believe me, you will not like what I do."

"That's dandy. Can I have my album back?" It took a hell of a lot of courage for her to say that.

"I'll be taking it with me. Nothing good will come to you for having this. I'm sure if your father saw this, he'd destroy it. Just like I'm going to do."

Deja vu. Seriously. If only Batman knew…

Was it her or did Batman's lip quirk for a second?

She looked away, back at the the chemical structure continued to mock her. Now she was more frustrated than before; the Batman knew what it was but he wasn't going to share. Why wasn't he throwing her a bone here?

Looking back to where she last saw him, color her surprised when she found her room empty save for her. Had he left her when she turned her back to him? Again? Son of a… Did he do this to dad too?

Snatching up her phone, she dialed a familiar number. "Dick," she exclaimed as soon as her called was picked up. "You won't guess what just happened."

* * *

Zatanna raised an eyebrow as he approached the car. She was currently sitting on the hood, one leg crossed over the other and leaning backwards while using her arms to support her. It was a very alluring pose, though Batman didn't give it a second thought as he approached. "What's with the diary?" she asked him, eyeing Barbara Gordon's photo album.

"Doing someone a favor," he grunted as he came to a stop next to her. He then held out the canister he'd been given by Gordon's daughter, letting the dark-haired woman get a good look at it. "I need you to go to a warehouse near downtown and see if there are anymore canisters there."

She gave a sharp nod in affirmation. "What's the address."

"1826 Sycamore."

"Boulevard or Avenue?"

The dark-clad man paused, giving the magician a blank look. "Boulevard."

She smiled winsomely at him before hopping off the car's hood. "So what will you be doing?"

"I'm going back to the cave. I'll meet you there when you're done."

"Sounds good. See ya." Then Zatanna's face became stern. "Tropelet ot eromacys!"

A blast of rose-colored smoke erupted around the woman, enveloping her until she disappeared from sight. When the smoke dissipated, she was nowhere to be found. Ignoring it, Batman activated the canopy, causing it to slide open and allow him to jump in, the roof sliding back into place a moment later. Turning on the car, he revved the engine and tore off down the street, making his way back home.

Though his talk with Barbara hadn't gone the way he wanted it to, he was certain now that he was going to have to take steps to further deter her and her friends. While ratting her to Gordon would definitely make life difficult to her, Nightwing and Robin were going to have to involve more physical manners of persuasion. It was unfortunate, but he couldn't think of anything else. Unlike the Birds of Prey, they were too young and too immature to realize what they were getting themselves into.

Then there was that truck of fear toxin they had found. That, he had to admit, was alarming. Zatanna would do a good enough job checking the warehouse out and if she missed anything, he could review the footage her new mask provided. In the meantime, the vigilante would track down where Barbara hid the truck she found. More clues could be gleaned from that.

Besides, he had to show these youngins that he wasn't only bark.

* * *

This...hadn't been what he had been what he had been expecting.

The situation was familiar: a crime boss was taken out of the game, permanently, and he needed to deal with the fallout. Again. The only hope Gordon had right now was that this wouldn't turn out like last time.

Enter Montoya and her sighting of a caped individual who she was adamant was _not_ Batman.

So this was this situation. It was starting to sound like a second coming of the Night of Ice only instead of Victor Fries it was an unknown, masked perpetrator who, according to Montoya, was copying the Batman look. Either way, it was not a good thing in his book.

"How do you know that it wasn't Batman? How do you know it was someone else?" he asked. He felt like he had asked this question before, several times in the past twenty minutes. "The...person was high up, several hundred feet away from you, and it was dark. The only light you had was from the fire. Explain it to me again how you came to this conclusion."

Standing, not sitting, in front of his desk was the woman who by all appearances looked like she had a chip on her shoulder and something to prove. Almost reminded him of himself when he was younger.

"The Batman's M.O. does not include incendiary devices like the one used in Valestra's penthouse. Also, from all reports there are, the Batman has a black cape, not a gray one." That was starting to sound familiar too. Like she had repeated it more than once.

"How do you know he didn't change the color?" he pressed.

"I don't. A question, if I may." Very professional there, Montoya. She continued to stare straight ahead but never quite looking him in the eye.

"You may," he permitted, waving a hand at him in affirmation.

"Why would he change the color of his cape when black has been more effective for him? Why change to a color that stands out more?" Montoya asked her question.

"Maybe he got tired of black," Gordon suggested, internally wincing as what he had said.

"With all due respect, that sounds like something Bullock would say," Montoya said.

Another reason to internally wince. Though he wouldn't say it outloud, he did agree that that was something that Bullock would say. No offense towards Bullock intended.

"Also, Commissioner, I saw the perpetrator climbing the side of the building. Batman has never been known to do that," Montoya added.

Gordon knew he could mention that because no one had seen Batman, the one he had known and worked with, climb any buildings didn't mean he hadn't or didn't as the case may be. Looking back at his rooftop meetings before the Joker created Gotham Fire, he had never seen the vigilante climb a building.

"Alright, say I believe you. What does this all add up to?" he asked, leaning back in his seat.

"Sir, if I may, if a costumed vigilante is responsible for the bombing that killed Salvatore Valestra, would it not stand to reason he is responsible for the deaths of other members of Valestra's organization," Montoya pointed out. "There were eyewitness reports of a costumed individual spotted at the scene of Chuckie Sol's murder. I would suggest that this may be the same individual. If this is indeed the case, we should be investigating the men murdered and check to see if there is any connection between the four of them."

He had to admit, he was a bit impressed with that. Sarah hadn't been kidding about the detective. She was sharp, already coming up with potential leads, and the investigation she was proposing hadn't even started yet.

"If I was to start an investigation, like the one you suggested," Gordon began, speaking slowly like it was carefully wording his every sentence, "would you be willing to be the one in charge of it? Would you be willing to risk any chance of advancing in the department by being the face of this investigation?"

Gordon could see her straightening her shoulders before she gave her answer. "I would.":

He gave a small smile. "Then it's yours. If there is any link between these four murders that leads to our Batman mimic, I want you to find it. While I am not shedding tears over the loss of some major crime figures, murder is still against the law and someone will answer for them. It is our duty as law officers to uphold the law, even if the person responsible is someone we...respect. Do you understand me, Detective?"

"I understand." He could hear the resolution in her voice.

"Then get to work."

A nod and she was leaving, the commissioner all by himself now. Taking in a deep breath, he let his head fall back, snaking his fingers under his glasses to squeeze the bridge of his nose.

This was great, another costumed vigilante in this city. It was the last thing any of them needed. Especially one that was resorting to killing before causing injury.

Regardless of his thoughts and views towards the vigilantes already haunting the streets, if there was one thing he would not stand for it would be anyone who would dare tarnish those first few years that the Batman had been on the scene. Though he looked back on them bitterly, the hope that had first sprung from the Batman's initial time fighting the criminal underworld had been all too real.

No one was going to poison that hope. Not on his watch.

* * *

The canopy of the Batmobile slid open and Batman climbed out, his feet landing roughly on the cave floor. Canister and photo album in hand, he marched towards the supercomputer.

The drive back had given him too much time to think. With the mobster murders being perpetrated by an unknown vigilante and the alleged cargo of fear toxin, the Dark Knight couldn't help but feel as if something was building up, just about to boil over and wash over Gotham, much to its detriment. That a handful of kids had beaten him to this discovery was a sop to his pride.

But, it was better he found out about it now instead when everything exploded. There was still time to prevent what was about to go down and the first step was analyzing the canister. The toxin within was pure, uncontaminated by the breakdown caused by the human immune system. Hopefully more clues could be gleaned from this formula, and perhaps a stronger antidote.

Not only that, but if he isolated the various ingredients, the dark-clad man could then better triangulate where this stuff was coming from and where it was being shipped to if that were the case. Reaching the computer, he dumped the photo album on the console, out of the way so that he could focus completely on the canister. Still standing, he began studying the container, analyzing the best way to open it without exposing himself to the toxin within. There was also the possibility of learning where the canister was from if he studied it right.

It seemed the night just got longer.

"Is this what has become of you, Detective?"

Batman froze. That voice. That _name_. There were only so many people that called him that, a name he used not too long ago; a name associated with secrecy and blood. Whipping around, his cape billowing out behind him, the vigilante sought out the source of the voice.

There, standing short of the stairs up to the manor was a distinguished-looking man, his body enveloped in a rich green cloak. White streaked through his hair, staring at his temples, and two tuffs of facial hair descended from his chin. He knew that man from anywhere.

Ra's al Ghul.

The last he had seen of Ra's, the man had been consumed in flames as Nanda Parbat fell apart around them. Though there was no way the man could survive, Batman had his doubts. A man didn't live for over 700 years and not escape close calls. The fact that he was here, in the cave, no worse for wear, just confirmed what he had always suspected.

"You seem alarmed, Detective," Ra's casually spoke, his blue eyes boring holes into the younger man. "Surely you are not this surprised by my return."

"No, I can't say that I am," Batman replied, allowing his cape to cloak his own body. Hands out of sight, he began reaching to his belt, pulling out a bat-shaped shuriken. With a step, he began to walk towards Ra's right, who in turn began to move as well, the men slowly circling around each other. "I just didn't expect our next meeting would be so soon."

"Which is precisely why I am here," the older man intoned. "An assassin strikes when least expected-you know this. Yet, here you are, a month since you left me to die and you have already forgotten the principles I taught you."

"If anyone is responsible for your near-death experience, it's you, Ra's," the dark-clad man retorted curtly. "You were also the one to tell me that death is only the fault of the dying and no one else."

A thin smile graced Ra's lips. "So you have not forgotten all that I taught you. Splendid, I had thought you'd grown complacent upon your return to Gotham."

Then his smile disappeared. "However, I am disappointed that you resist the natural course of nature."

"Whose nature? Yours or mine?"

"Do not play the fool, Detective, it suits your poorly. You were trained to be the greatest of assassins, yet you foolishly follow your juvenile belief of not killing. The only way to permanently end a threat is to bleed it dry. You are wasting your talents and training."

"Because one knows how to kill does not mean he has to kill," Batman replied. The distance between the two men had shortened considerably in the time they'd talked. Any moment now they would be within arm's reach and that would be when their fated clash would happen. The sense of inevitability gnawed in the Dark Knight's stomach, leaving him hollow. "And killing does not end the conflict."

"Misguided as always, Detective," Ra's retorted blandly. "It seems I was wrong to place my hopes within you. Before you is the opportunity to change the world and you shun it! Instead you chose to propagate a failed order and take into your bed a harlot." Suddenly, the older man's eyes lit up with enthusiasm. "Perhaps I am the one to misjudge you, Detective?"

Batman did not like the look he was seeing from Ra's. "Is that a fact?"

"Surely I underestimated your tolerance for tragedy. What seems to be in order is to recreate what broke you to begin with. Perhaps sacrificing the harlot can be your catalyst this time."

In an instant, Batman threw off his cape and sent his shuriken flying at Ra's head. Like hell would he let this evil man hurt Zana! As the projectile sailed towards Ra's, the older man simply slid to a side, the shuriken flying by harmlessly. Teeth bared, the vigilante launched himself at his foe, unleashing a barrage of punches.

In response, Ra's backed away, avoiding the feints and jabs by putting distance between them. For the haymakers he was forced to dodge to a side, leaving the harder punches to hit nothing but empty air. Oddly enough, the older man never made a move to block, parry, or counter. It seemed as if he were merely content on allowing the Bat to wail on him futilely.

That only angered him further, which caused the younger man to press his offensives, throwing wilder and wilder punches. "Sloppy," Ra's admonished him cooly as he leapt to the dark-clad man's right. "Surely you have more to offer than this."

Letting out a war cry, Batman redoubled his efforts, unleashing his fury punch by punch. Again, he couldn't quite seem to hit Ra's, his opponent backing off with each and every strike.

And then, he finally connected. Completely unexpected, Ra's didn't dodge, taking a solid hit to his face. Yet, Ra's seemed unaffected by the blow and pain seared up and dark-clad man's arm, his knuckles throbbing. It was like punching a brick wall and none of the protection in his gloves could have stopped the damage that punch had caused. Biting back a surprised cry, Batman leapt away, putting some distance between him and his foe so that he could figure out what had happened.

"Do you really think I would confront you without improving myself, Detective?" Ra's asked rhetorically. Casually, he began to pace to Batman's left, moving towards the lab tables. "The mystical waters beneath Nanda Parbat have done much to strengthen me, as your left fist can attest to."

That was not something the vigilante wanted to hear. That meant he had to readjust his strategy to fight too many unknowns. So far all Ra's had shown was a stronger body, one that could take a hard punch to the face. It'd be unwise to attempt another blow like that. And knowing Ra's that wasn't all that had changed with him.

"You're up to something," the older man stated, staring calmly at the vigilante. "What could it be, I wonder? Surely you've realized a frontal assault is useless. What are you doing, Bruce?"

Batman frowned. Ra's had never called him Bruce before. Just hearing his name come from the Demon's Head's lips was jarring.

"Are you okay?" the man taunted him. "What's wrong?"

Baring his teeth once more, Batman reached to his belt and pulled out another shuriken. This time, however, pressed his thumb in the middle of it, a red light glowing from the projectile's body. Drawing his arm back, he then let the shuriken loose, sending it flying at Ra's.

Again, he moved out of the way of the bat-shaped shuriken, letting it sail through the air until it collided with the cave's wall, one end embedded in the rocky surface. A moment later, a powerful blast erupted from the shuriken, letting out a thunderous roar as the cave shook violently. Pieces of rock went flying through the air, some of which rained down on the cave set-up while most fell out of sight into the ravine that marked the boundary of the floor.

"What are you doing?!" Ra's demanded as he looked angrily at the dark-clad man. "You'll bring the entire cave down on our heads!"

"Whatever it takes, Ra's," Batman growled back.

Fury etched itself on the Demon's Head's face. He didn't respond, merely content on scowling at the vigilante, which was all fine for the Dark Knight. That just gave him time to pull out two more explosive shuriken, a plan forming in his mind to hit Ra's with at least one of them.

However, before he could activate them, out of nowhere a sharp pain stung his leg. Hissing, he dropped his sights to his leg, finding a syringe penetrating his armor right between the plates and entering his thigh. Dropping his inert shuriken, he gripped his thigh with one hand and the syringe with the other, yanking it out and staring at any residual fluid in the syringe. Unfortunately, it had all gotten into his body, so there was no telling what was inside of him.

And then he felt a hand touch his shoulder. "Bruce, calm down," Zatanna ordered, causing him to hesitate. When did she get here?

Quickly, he shot his eyes towards Ra's, who wasn't anywhere in sight. "Where's Ra's?" he demanded, jerking his head back to the dark-haired woman.

Instead of answering him, the magician said, "You're hallucinating, Bruce. You need to calm down. I just gave you that antidote, so you need to let it take effect."

Hallucination? It couldn't be. Not after he nearly broke his hand on Ra's chin. Raising up his left hand, he noticed the knuckles looked torn with pieces of granite sticking out of it. Seeing this, Zatanna said, "You punched one of the stalagmites. I came in just as you were doing it too."

That...made some sense. A quick glance to a nearby stalagmite showed a red spot on its rocky surface, drops of blood leaving trails beneath it. As the adrenaline in his system began to fade, a fatigue descended upon the dark-clad man, causing him to press his injured hand onto his face. Before he could do anything more or say anything, the dark-haired woman beat him to the punch. "You need to sit." She then took hold of his other arm with both of her hands and pulled, leading him to the chair in front of the supercomputer. Once he sat down, she released his arm and took up his left hand, studying it. "You really did a number on yourself, didn't you," she stated.

"So it would seem," he sighed. "I saw Ra's again. He was taunting me and-"

"I know," Zana said soothingly, raising a hand to his cheek, caressing it. "But it's over now. He's still dead and you are not one of his soldiers. You're right where you belong, at home, with me."

The corner of his mouth twitched up. "Doesn't sound like a good deal for you," he jested.

She returned his grin. "I take what I can get."


	18. Closure

Closure

It was with great reluctance that Zatanna awoke. Sleeping in a warm, comfortable bed tended to do that the people and she was no exception.

There was the added bonus that she wasn't alone. Behind her lay Bruce, his arm wrapped around her waist as the two of them spooned. The dark-haired woman could feel the heat generated from her bedmate and she wasn't above snuggling into it.

Glancing to a nearby clock, the hands showed it was nearly noon. Good thing it was the start of the weekend, otherwise Bruce would have been at Wayne Enterprises already and woken her up in the process. That would not have ended well for either of them considering their extremely late night.

Following Bruce's hallucination in the cave, the two of them had confirmed the canister the dark-haired man had retrieved was indeed more of that fear gas stuff. According to the police commissioner's daughter of all people, there was a truck-load of the stuff, potentially more. It didn't help matters either that the warehouse Zatanna investigated was empty; she did find signs that something had been stored there and a lot of it, but clearly that wasn't the case anymore. Whoever had been storing the gas there had made sure to remove all traces of it. It really didn't help the moods of the couple considering there was way too much of that gas out in Gotham somewhere.

Then there had been the matter of finding the truck the Gordon girl and her friends had. That wasn't too much trouble and had been resolved fairly quickly.

That led to where she was now. For the moment, Zatanna would just enjoy it. It wasn't like she had anywhere to be.

A sudden shift behind her alerted her to Bruce also awaken. "You're up," she heard him say, his voice low and gruff.

"So are you," she replied, staying still.

She felt his arm tightened against her, which caused a smile to appear on her face. "Thinking about getting up?" he asked her.

She shook her head. "Not a chance."

Then, on a whim, Zatanna lifted herself up and turned around, lowering herself back on the bed, but this time facing Bruce. There was a twinkle of mirth in her eyes as she looked at the rather handsome man. "Do you have a problem with that?" she asked coyly.

The corner of his mouth twitched up. "No, can't say that I do."

"Good." Leaning forward, she pressed her lips against his, breaking the chaste kiss apart a moment later. "I'd be questioning your priorities if you did."

A full-fledge smirk appeared on his face this time before he leaned in to initiate the next kiss, this one longer and a lot more enjoyable to the dark-haired woman. She felt his arm tighten again, which she took as her cue to press herself closer against him. When the kiss ended, she heard him say, "We can't have that, now can we?"

"Uh, uh, nope." See? Now this was what she wanted. Just her and her guy wasting the day away with some comfort and affection. In fact, she wouldn't have minded going all the way up until dusk like this.

So of course Bruce's stomach had to protest loudly.

Raising an eyebrow, Zatanna looked bemused at the dark-haired man. "Hungry?"

"Feels like it," he replied. "I guess my body's priorities are a little different from yours."

The magician pouted. "Awww, don't leave me, Bruce. Aren't we having fun?"

"I'm starting to question your priorities, Zana."

Smartass. "Fine," she huffed as she pulled away from him, flipping around to face away. "Go satisfy your tummy, I don't care."

Then, as if to betray her, her stomach growled. "Hungry?" Bruce said, a healthy dose of snark in his amused voice.

Face reddening, Zatanna shot her eyes left and right, trying to come up with a more dignified answer than a sheepish, "Yeeeeeeah." So she settled for, "Well, since you're going that way…"

Suddenly, she felt a rough hand brush her hair away from her face, which was then followed by a pair of lips kissing her neck. Mmmm, now that wasn't bad at all. "I'll be sure to bring extra," he promised before he pulled away, climbing out of the bed and heading for the bathroom. Propping herself up with her elbow, the dark-haired woman watched as he closed the bathroom door behind him, the sound of a water spray beginning moments later. Oh, so he was going to shower too. Leave her all alone with her hungry tummy. What a tease.

Oh well, she could enjoy lying in bed by herself. After Bruce did his best impression of Alfred, he could rejoin her should he please her with his offering. Dropping back onto the bed, Zatanna pulled the covers up over her shoulder so her head was the only thing uncovered.

So of course the doorbell had to ring.

 _Oh, c'mon!_ Seriously, did someone just not want her to sleep the day away? Was her plan just too awesome that it had to be destroyed? Goddamn cosmic luck.

"Bruuuuce," she moaned, hoping he could hear her. Since he was already out of bed, he could go tell that annoying visitor to bugger off. Lying there, she waited for the shower to stop, but grew annoyed when it didn't. "Bruuuuuuuuuce," she called out again, louder this time. Again, the shower didn't stop. Damn it.

So her idiot of a boyfriend couldn't hear a doorbell or her over the sound of falling water. Here was your Dark Knight, Gotham. Able to terrify the underbelly of crime, deduce criminal motives within seconds with the most minute of clues, and looked great in a suit, but couldn't hear anything over a shower.

The doorbell rang again, which only furthered Zatanna's ire. Grumbling, she tossed the covers off of her and slid her legs off the mattress. Standing up, she walked over to a nearby wardrobe and pulled the doors open. It was full of Bruce's clothes, mostly PJs and t-shirts. Grabbing a pair of sweatpants, Zatanna pulled them on, snatching one of Bruce's larger t-shirts and taking off to the bedroom door. Pulling the shirt on, she absently noted how much bigger her companion's shirt size was than hers. The sleeves practically reached her elbows and if she wanted to, she could show off some shoulder if she pulled the collar around it.

Leaving the bedroom, Zatanna made her way down the hallway towards the stairs. The doorbell rang again. "I'm coming, I'm coming," she groused, finding the staircase and trudging down them. Once she reached the ground floor, it wasn't that far of a trek to the front door. Reaching it, she quickly undid the locks and pulled the door open.

As if the universe truly was out to get her, on the other side of the door, standing primly on the front porch in a white blouse and loose skirt, was Andrea Beaumont. Of all the people that had to show up at Wayne Manor, it had to be the last person Zatanna wanted to see.

Apparently, Andrea was surprised to see the magician, her eyes wide as she took in the state of Zatanna's dress. "Oh, hi," she greeted warily. "I was wondering if I could see Bruce?"

 _No, you can't see Bruce. He owes me brunch in bed so why don't you go, I don't know, ruin some other girl's noon sleep-in._ That was the first thought in Zatanna's head. Unfortunately, her brain told her to say instead, "I'll go tell him." Damn, traitorous brain.

Andrea nodded her acceptance. "Umm, is it okay if I come in?"

 _No, it's not okay!_ "I guess so? This isn't my house, so I can't say for sure. I guess the sitting room would be fine."

"I'm sure Bruce would be alright with that." Then the redhead moved to the door, which caused Zatanna to step back and allow her in. As she closed the door, the dark-haired woman kept her eyes on the other, watching as she took in the sight of the foyer.

"This hasn't changed much," Andrea remarked before heading off for a hallway. "I'm sure the sitting room is still where it is, so you don't have to show me."

Zatanna could feel her irritation growing. It wasn't enough that Bruce's ex was a rather beautiful woman, but that she knew the layout of the manor so well was just another punch to her gut. The magician really hoped the redhead had crooked teeth or bad B.O. because she was really starting to see just how close those two had gotten.

And her day had started off so well too.

* * *

Bruce could still feel the dampness in his hair. He had been enjoying a hot shower when Zatanna barged into the bathroom and told him bluntly that his ex was here and he needed to go deal with her. He got the feeling today was going to sour really quickly by just looking at the dark-haired woman's face.

So, after hastily drying off and throwing on some clothes, he was in the sitting room, where Andrea had seated herself on one of the couches. She looked prim and proper, which was at odds with how he used to know her. She had been really laid back for someone of their status, so her current posture was unsettling.

"What can I do for you, Andrea?" he greeted her as he closed the door. Upon entering the room, the redhead had requested that the two of them speak private, which riled Zatanna up further. Seeing that her negativity would get in the way, Bruce had acquiescent to the request and showed the magician out.

"I was thinking about some of the things you said to me the other day," she began, sounding practiced. Apparently she was still nervous around him. "About closure."

"I recall mentioning that," he admitted.

The woman swallowed deeply, nervously. "So in the interest of that, I felt I needed to talk to you about my letter."

This was not something Bruce wanted to talk about. While there were plenty of things he'd rather talk to her about, that wasn't one of them. It still represented a low point in his life and one that he was fine with burying. "I can't say that's something I'm interested in hearing," he said.

Strangely, Andrea shook her head vehemently. "No, this is something I have to tell you. You deserve to know what made me do it."

Okay, his interest was piqued and how was he to deny someone a confession? "Go on," he prompted.

A sigh came from the woman's lips. "Do you remember our last night?"

The dark-haired man nodded. "When I dropped you off your house."

"And my father was having company," she added. Now that she mentioned it, Bruce did recall Andrea's father having people at the house. He was starting to get the feeling that they were involved with this somehow…

"After you drove off, I went inside," Andrea continued, her eyes glazing over. "There was a man waiting inside, and I could hear someone yelling at my father. I wasn't sure what was going on, but I ended up finding out.

"And ever since, I wish I hadn't."

* * *

 _A part of her wanted to go back outside. Hopefully Alfred hadn't driven off and maybe she could spend that much more time with Bruce. Or if he had, he hadn't gone far and she could catch up, catch a ride while she was at it._

 _However, she had made her decision. She had already told Bruce that they would save the good news until tomorrow. Having seen her father...with guests through one of the windows, she knew that now was probably not the best time. Also, there was no way she wanted Bruce getting involved with what was going on in there._

 _Judging by her father's posture from the glimpse she had of him earlier, it didn't look like things were going well in there._

 _Thus, she was closing the front door behind her, remaining in the foyer as her eyes drifted towards the door to her father's office. Though the door was closed, there was a young man in a suit and fedora leaning against the wall next to the door. He looked to be about in his earlier twenties and was in the middle of growing a thin mustache._

 _If he thought it was a fashion statement, he was so wrong._

 _The young man tilted his fedora back with a finger and wolf-whistled at her. "You Carl's daughter? Quite the looker you are. Makes me want to put you in a box and hide you away."_

 _Now she felt like she needed to take a shower._

" _Is my father busy?" Her voice was sharp and distant; no way was she going to show any hospitality towards that man._

" _Now, now, don't be that way towards Boxy Bennett," the man tried to say suavely, failing in her opinion, while he jerked a thumb at his chest. "If you gave me a chance, I could give you the time of your life."_

" _Not interested," she shot him down._

" _Don't be that way," Boxy Bennett said as he pushed away from the wall, stalking over towards her. There was an edge in his voice, but he was still trying to come off like some kind of ladies' man. She took a step back, not wanting to be any closer to him. Boxy, as he ridiculously called himself, only came closer._

" _Sell it somewhere else," she snapped at him, turning away towards the staircase._

 _Before she could take a step, Boxy reached out and grabbed her by her lower arm, his hand gripping tightly._

" _Now, Missy, I'm just trying to be nice, make some conversation, that's all." His grip on her arm tightened, a sign that he was anything but nice. "But when you start with the ice queen act, you get on my nerves, especially since I'm a really nice guy once you get to know me."_

" _Let go," she stated coldly._

" _C'mon, live a little," he chided, leaning in closer, too close…_

" _I said let go!" she yelled, slapping the man with her free hand._

 _Boxy Bennett's head snapped to a side from the force she used. He looked surprised yet his grip didn't loosen for a second. Her eyes narrowed at that fact; she might have to start using some of those self-defense lessons she had if this kept up._

" _Heh," Boxy chuckled. "Now I'm not sure if it's the ice queen act or playing hard to get. Both get on my nerves." She could see him raise his arm, about to strike her. Now she had no choice._

 _To his obvious surprise, she blocked his using the lower part of her free arm. Then she grabbed at his other arm, the one that held her prisoner and grabbed tightly. Forcing Boxy's arm upwards, she twisted around then pulled downwards, Boxy's arm going over her shoulder. Bending over, she completed the self-defense maneuver, flipping Boxy over her back and onto the hard, tiled floor. It simple to remove herself then._

 _As Boxy lied there, dazed and confused, she back away from him unknowingly in the direction of her father's office. Gaining what little wits he had, Boxy rolled himself over then pushed himself up. His fedora remained on the floor, forgotten._

" _You got some moves," the man commented as he straightened his crooked tie. His eyes hardened as he said, "You're going to wish you used none of them."_

 _He was fast, probably because he still had his youth, and Andrea tried to use another technique she had on hand. She had caught him by his shoulders and she was bringing her knee up, but Boxy was blocking it while shoving her backwards. Not prepared for the block, she found herself pushed backwards and right into the door to her father's office._

 _Said door had been ajar, something she hadn't noticed when she had entered her home, Boxy being the distraction._

 _Regardless, she was falling onto her rear in her father's office where four pairs of eyes turned towards her. With her hands on the carpeted floor propping her up, she glanced over her shoulder at the three men who surrounded her father. Only one of them she recognized, that man taking vigil by the window and smoking a cigarette. The other two she had never seen before._

 _And Boxy was in the doorway, a deer in the headlights look on his face. He became even nervous as the smoking man looked up at him with an expression so cool, it made icebergs look scorching hot._

" _Andy!" her father, Carl Beaumont, exclaimed, distracting her._

 _The next thing she knew, she was being dragged up onto her feet, a large hand twisting her arm behind her back mercilessly. "God damn it, Boxy, you're such a loser," a voice growled from the owner of the hand._

" _Let her go!" her father cried out, only to be stopped by one of the strange men, a squat and stocky-looking man whose armed barred the way._

" _Carl!" the man said warningly._

 _Andrea's eyes traveled to the large, heavy-set man behind her, a mole almost winking her in the face from what appeared to be the makings of a double chin. At the very least, this man didn't appear a bit interested her, not like how Boxy was._

" _I am sorry you had to see this, Ms. Beaumont," the smoking man spoke up, breathing out a large plume of smoke. Mr. Valestra, that's what her father always called him when he showed up. If she didn't like how Boxy looked at her, she definitely didn't like the way Valestra looked at her. It was as if he was weighing some value she had, determining if he should keep her around or toss her aside. She was relieve when he looked away from her. "What is the meaning of this, Boxy? I don't remember asking you to harass Carl's family."_

" _I-it was a-an accident, Sal. Honest!" Boxy hurriedly excused himself, almost tripping over his own words._

" _I don't remember you having permission to call me that. We'll speak about this later." His tone offered no argument. "What's done is done. So where were we?" Now his gaze was on her father, the man struggling to withstand the intensity Valestra was throwing at him._

" _Look, I can get you the money," her father pleaded. Money? What was he talking about?_

 _Valestra silenced her father with a look. Like a panther she had once saw at the zoo with Bruce, Valestra prowled his way closer to the distressed man. Carl, her friendly and proud father, sank to his knees the closer this man came to him. Leaning down, Valestra took in a long drag on his cigarette before breathing a large cloud of it into her father's face, making him cough._

" _Convince me," Valestra challenged._

 _Getting over his coughing, eyes watering from the sting the smoke had left, her father began explaining, "As soon as the European markets open, I'll wire the whole amount over to you. I swear! I just need a few hours to do it. You'll have everything, and more. Just...just don't hurt my daughter!"_

 _Valestra stared her father down for a moment longer, looking up to the squat, stocky-looking man. The man gave a simple nod as a reply. Then Valestra's attention turned towards her, more specifically the man behind her. She felt the large man's body shift and she wondered if he too gave a nod._

 _Whatever the answer was, Valestra turned back to the kneeling man in front of him, ignoring or forgetting Boxy's input. Taking a smaller drag, he gave his edict, smoke pouring out of his mouth. "Twenty-four hours, Carl. You have the money by then or I'll have your beating heart in my hand." He emphasized his threat by holding out his hand close to Carl Beaumont's face, fingers curled as if he was holding something in it._

 _Pulling away, Valestra headed towards the door. Andrea soon found herself freed as she was released. Her father's guests were finally leaving, one of the men saying something, another snapping not to call him...Chuckie boy? Valestra, however, stopped long enough to let his...associates go ahead so that he could leave some parting words._

" _The next time you try to steal money from men in our kind of enterprise, think about whether or not you want your daughter to have a long and happy life. Be grateful it's me you're dealing with, and not the Roman."_

 _Oh God, that cinched it. These men...they were mobsters. The mention of the Roman, also known as Carmine Falcone, left no doubt about it. What had her father done? Why...why was he…?_

" _Hurry. Pack your bags."_

 _Pulling her out of her head, Andrea stared as she witnessed her father rummaging through his file cabinets, pulling out reams of files._

" _What? Why?" she protested, hurrying over to her frantically moving father._

" _I just used up whatever mercy Sal Valestra has in him," the man explained, taking a pause from his packing to grasp her by her shoulders. She was frozen in place at the fear she could see in his eyes. "If I don't pay him in twenty-four hours, he's going to kill us both!"_

 _Only ten minutes ago, everything had been wonderful. Ten minutes ago, she had been in the car with Bruce, Alfred chauffeuring them to her home so that she could share the big news. Ten minutes ago, she was engaged to marry Bruce Wayne, the young man whom she had come to know and grown to love._

 _Ten minutes later, all of it looked to be falling apart._

" _No! Dad! Bruce and I are getting married!" she protested, pulling out of her father's grasp harshly. "Can't you just pay them the money? Through those markets? Like you said?"_

" _The money is tied up in investments," Carl explained. "It could take weeks to free up. Even if I called the brokers in London and told them to liquidate everything, I wouldn't get the money in time to pay back Valestra. And the amount he wants, I don't have on hand or in any banks here. It's...it's too large an amount."_

" _What about Bruce? He could lend you the money, and you could pay him back!" Now she was scrambling for solutions. If Bruce knew about the situation, she knew that he would do anything to help._

" _I'm not getting Bruce Wayne involved in this. That boy has had to suffer enough. Knowing Valestra, if he found out that Bruce gave me the money to pay him back, he'd figure out a way to bleed away the Wayne fortune. He'd become a rival against Falcone, and then things will get much worse from there. No. I'm not letting that happen. I won't risk it."_

" _Why? Why Dad?" She was almost at the point of breaking down, tears about to burst forth. "Why did you have to get involved with these people? Why did you…?"_

" _Andy. All I've ever wanted was to give you the life you deserved." Her father's voice was soft, the tone the same as the one he used whenever she had had nightmares as a child. The same voice he used when explaining to her why she couldn't paint on the walls, or why Jack had to drown in the Atlantic, or why her mother wouldn't be coming home anymore. All those other times she had welcomed it, but this time… "All I've ever wanted was the best for you."_

" _The best for me? The best I've ever had is Bruce and now you're telling me I have to leave!" she cried out, rounding on him._

" _I'm sorry, Andy." Carl Beaumont wrapped his arms around the trembling woman, holding her tightly. Though she wanted to tear herself away, Andrea instead found herself turning in his embrace, pressing her face into her father's chest like she used to do as a little girl. "I'm sorry I got you involved with this. Listen to me. Once we're safe, there are a couple people I know in this city. You know one of them, Charles Sionis. We go back. With some convincing, he'll help to smooth things over._

" _But whatever happens, Andy, believe me when I tell you that I'm going to make it right. Whatever it takes."_

* * *

"After that, we were on the run," Andrea said sadly. "We didn't stay in the same place for very long, too afraid that if we stopped, Valestra would be right there ready to kill us. Thankfully Daddy's connection with Sionis paid off and we were able to settle on the Mediterranean Coast. We were about two years there before Dad took off; I don't know where he went and what he was up to, but I haven't seen him since."

Bruce went over Andrea's story over and over in his head. Valestra, Bronsky, Sol, all of whom were involved with Carl Beaumont. The fact that these men were all dead and Beaumont was missing was a big red flag in the dark-haired man's mind.

There was a solid motive for Beaumont to be killing these gangsters. The Mob had a long memory, especially for people that scammed them or tried to play them for fools. Beaumont fell into both groups, so even if it took the rest of their lives, Valestra and his gang would hunt him down until Carl was dead. What better way to get such dangerous men off his back then to murder them?

And then there was the connection with Sionis. While Bruce wasn't all that acquainted with Charles _,_ he was with the son, Roman. The last he saw of the younger Sionis, he had dragged the guy out of a death trap created by the Joker, with Roman as the bait. Ever since Bruce had returned to Gotham, he hadn't heard a single word about the man, which further raised flags. A giant puzzle piece had landed in his lap and he needed to fit it into place.

"Bruce?" Andrea's voice shook the dark-haired man from his thoughts, causing him to look owlishly at the woman. "Are you alright?" she asked him, her voice full of concern.

The billionaire shook his head to clear his mind. "This is a lot to take in," he admitted. He would have taken a seat on the opposite couch, but he had done so when Andrea had launched into her story. So he settled for leaning back on it, resting both of his arms along the top of the couch. "Why did you wait so long to tell me about this? I could have helped."

"You could have, but it wouldn't have solved anything," Andrea disagreed. "You don't really know what Valestra was like. You could've paid him every penny you have, Bruce, but that wouldn't have been enough. He wanted interest compounded in blood, my father's to be precise; we had to find another way out."

"So you wrote me that letter so I wouldn't try finding you," the dark-haired man added. "Because they might use me to find you."

Andrea hesitated. "I hadn't thought about that, honestly," she answered, raising a hand up to brush back a strand of hair from her face, pushing it behind her ear. "I just...I didn't want to leave you without saying something; you deserve better than that. But everything was moving so fast and there was no way I could see you in person. So I wrote that letter and threw in everything I could."

Bruce studied the redhead, seeing how distraught she had become at her admission. Faintly, he wondered what would have been better: the letter or total silence. Just as quickly as that thought came, he shoved it away. It didn't really matter what happened, they would all end with him hurt and diving headfirst into becoming the Batman.

And speaking of which, he could feel the urge to rush into the cave and further investigate Carl Beaumont's connection to the Valestra mob family. With every passing second, it became more and more unbearable. He needed to see Andrea out soon, or he was going to do something very drastic.

"I…" he started before he shook his head. "Thank you...Andy. I appreciate you coming out here to tell me about this."

A sad smile appeared on her face. "I wish I didn't have to."

Bruce did his best to ignore how that came out. Still, he felt compelled to ask, "What do you mean by that?"

"I would've much preferred being with you, Bruce, having our own family, being happy." Her eyes dropped from his in her melancholy. "I wished that for so many days and years."

Something about that tense was bothersome, but Bruce decided, in the interest of civility, that he would let it pass. "So did I."

A silence fell between them as neither knew what more to say. Eventually, Andrea sighed and stood up. "Though I didn't mean for this to happen, I'm glad we were able to talk, Bruce. Just know that I still love you, no matter what happens."

He nodded, refusing to meet her eyes. "What will you do now?"

"I don't know. I guess I'll complete our business, keep restoring the Beaumont name."

"I meant right now."

"Oh!" Andrea shook her head. "Go back to my hotel room. There's still work to be done. I suppose I'll see you at the next board meeting?"

"If not sooner."

"Then take care, Bruce. I'll see you then."

And with that, Andrea walked to the sitting room door and opened it. Standing up, Bruce followed her and the two made their way to the front door. This time, the dark-haired man opened it for his companion, who nodded her thanks and exited the manor. Standing in the doorway, Bruce watched as she walked to her car, climbed in, and drove off.

Closing the door, Bruce locked it as his face hardened. Turning away from the door, he made his way towards his study, fully intent on going into the cave. Unfortunately, he wouldn't get their unmolested. As he entered the hallway, he ran right into Zatanna, who looked rather cross with him. "How did it go?" she asked bitterly. Apparently she was still upset with not being included in Andrea's talk.

This was not the time for it. "We have work to do," he grunted before walking by her, taking even strides down the corridor. He didn't hear Zana move for a few seconds before the pattering sound of bare feet gave chase behind him.

"What work are you talking about?" she demanded once she caught up to him.

"Andrea's father is connected to the mobster murders," he told her, reaching the study door and opening it, entering the room a moment later.

"And how is he connected to all this?" the dark-haired woman questioned as she followed him to the clock.

"He embezzled millions from them and they wanted him dead for it. Killing them off would solve a lot of problems for him."

He could feel the astonishment from Zatanna, even as he manipulated the locking mechanism of the grandfather clock. The moment the clock swung out, revealing the entrance to the cave, Bruce passed through it, taking the stairs downward. "Oh, that's...significant."

And didn't he know it.

* * *

As Wayne Manor dropped away, Andrea only pushed down on the accelerator, heading straight towards Gotham.

That...that had been liberating in a way. Finally telling Bruce the truth. She had hoped that leaving him ignorance would have sufficed, but as the days passed and their estranged relationship improved, she found that silence was too demanding.

Thanks to how things were progressing, the need to come clean had won out over secrecy. Now she wished she had done it sooner. This feeling, like a weight had been lifted off of her, it was nice. She felt like if she died now, then it would be without any lingering regrets.

Tightening her hands on the steering wheel, her eyes hardened with determination.

There was a lot of work ahead of her. It was the kind that couldn't, and wouldn't, be put off. With the way she was feeling right now, none of it seemed like a chore. Once she was done with it, she could safely say that she could turn her attention to more constructive matters.

Of course, there was that other woman. The one she had met at the Rutherford Gala. What had been her name? She didn't recall Bruce mentioning her name… Regardless, a little healthy rivalry wasn't a bad thing. And if Bruce's purported playboy reputation was to be believed, that relationship had a time limit.

Still, the two of them seemed awfully close. Almost as close as she had once been with Bruce.

Focus, Andrea. Do what you need to do first. Only then could you reach for the future, take hold of it, and never let it go again.

* * *

It was gone.

It didn't take a genius to figure who took a truck full of still unidentified stuff that was most certainly dangerous, and Batgirl didn't think the guys they had taken it from were responsible.

She almost started regretting giving that one single canister of the stuff to her late night visitor. Only almost because she had a feeling that the masked man had more resources and means to figure out everything about the stuff and more importantly come up with an antidote for it. If there was a need for an antidote in the first place. None of that changed the fact that now she couldn't continue investigating it.

And she had thought using Nightwing's old storage unit had been the best place to keep the large vehicle.

Yes, Nightwing had a storage unit. At a public storage unit facility. According to her partner, he had needed a place to keep a lot of his stuff while he was moving into his current place. Over a period of a couple months, he had been emptying the unit but never got around to clearing it out and ending the rent on it.

It was fortunate for them because it meant they had a place for the truck that was big enough to hide it and didn't have too much clutter in it. Who would think to look for it in a place like this?

Somehow, someway, the Batman had thought to and had at some point removed it.

In less than twenty-four hours. Scratch that, less than eighteen.

"You have to give him credit, he works fast," Robin whistled.

"I don't know whether to feel if this is an invasion of my privacy or not," Nightwing grumbled arms crossed over his chest. A deaf man could hear the undercurrent of anger in his voice.

She shouldn't be surprised that Batman knew of her partners' identities. He had found her out. It was only a matter of time until he found out about Dick Grayson and Tim Drake, Nightwing and Robin respectively.

None of it helped to soothe the anger she was feeling right now. There was a statement to be found here. _End your late night shenanigans._ _You're in over your head._ Oh yeah, that talk last night was coming back full force.

Still, in lieu of last night and that unexpectedly unpleasant visit, they needed to talk about it. About the last call they had been given.

"So what do you guys want to do?" she asked, shifting her weight and causing her small cape to shift about. "You know what I was told."

"About retiring?" Nightwing spat out, and was it her or was that a hint of venom in his voice? She could see how tense his muscles were through his almost skin-tight outfit.

"I don't know about you guys, but I'm not about to take off the mask," Robin stated, his hands balled into fists. They were trembling a little with suppressed emotion,

"Even knowing that the next time we're out and he catches us, he might decide to beat the crap out of us?" Batgirl replied, leveling a gaze on Robin.

"All the more reason to," Nightwing retorted. "I don't know what's going through his head and I'm not pretending to know, but like hell I'm going to stop just because he says I have to. The city needs help, a lot of it, and it's only been like a week ago he came back. What about the past three years? What about when he wasn't around? Things got bad. Real bad."

"If he can leave once, he can do it again," Robin agreed calmly. "You know why I'm doing this. You know why I'm not going to stop. If we can't feel safe in our own homes, where can we feel safe?"

That was a sore subject for the youngest member of their trio. She knew about the break-in his family had suffered, how his parents were held up at gunpoint while the burglars tore his home apart. This story had a quasi-happy ending: no one died. Robin, Tim, could not put it behind him. He wasn't about to let the thugs who invaded his life get away with it. Or anyone else who did it.

Naturally, it happened during Batman's hiatus.

"Even if you guys decide to quit, I'm not," Robin continued. "Batgirl, I can understand why you'd want to. He knows who you are. The fact he managed to find the truck here, he might know about Nightwing. I'm still safe."

"Batman knows who you are." Batgirl intensified her gaze on the younger vigilante. "Last night, he told me he knows who I am. He found this unit, a unit which Nightwing used his real name to rent, not an alias, so he knows who Nightwing is. If he could find out about Nightwing, he knows about you. He knows who you are, where you live, everything."

"Good." Batgirl glanced over at Nightwing. "I'm not going to let him stop me. If he wants to pick a fight, fine. We'll just have to show him that we can handle ourselves. We've been doing it this long, without him on our backs. Gotham's a big city; not even Batman can cover it all. Where he can't go, we'll be there. That's what brought us together and it's going to keep us together."

There were times when Batgirl wondered if Nightwing was the real leader of their Batclan. This was one of those times. This was also one of those times that she detected something underneath his words, something...angry. Or close to it. However, it wasn't the time to think about that. Right now, two pairs of eyes covered with domino masks faced her and it was her turn under the spotlight. To give her answer to this challenge.

"If you want out, this is the time," Nightwing offered, though that undercurrent of anger was still there. "Out of all of us, you're the one with the most to lose. You're the one in most danger. Your family's in the most danger. I won't hold it against you if feel like you have to protect it."

Again with the low blows. First Batman, and now Nightwing mentioning her father, who happened to be the commissioner. She was starting to get tired of it. No, she was already tired of it. She would not let emotional blackmail be used against her, no matter how powerful it was.

"That's why I'm out here and not being daddy's little girl," she retorted. "I'm out here just as much to protect him and the city. You're right, the city needs help and a lot of it. If Batman can't see it, then we have a problem. And that problem is that someone is bringing some dangerous stuff that even the Batman wants to stay away from. Who knows how much of it is in the city? I'm not going to hang up my cape yet. Not until we find out what's going on here and put a stop to it."

She was receiving some proud smiles here. She could feel the respect coming from her partners, her friends.

"So where do we start?" Robin asked.

"Who knows what that stuff does and why it's being brought in," Nightwing added.

"We can't do any more tests on the stuff. We don't have any anymore," Batgirl mused. "Say, why were they unloading that stuff at Sycamore anyway? Other than to put it there for safekeeping?" In reply, she got a couple of shrugs. "I think we might have a starting point."

"What's that?" Nightwing asked.

"Who owns that building? Does he know about what's going on on his property?" Batgirl squared her shoulders. "I'm going to do some research, boys, and see what I can come up with. If you're going to do a patrol tonight, keep an eye out for more of that stuff. If I find anything, I'll let you guys know and have you look into it."

"Sounds like a plan." Robin cracked his knuckles.

"And if any of your guys aren't busy tomorrow, maybe you can help me clear this thing out," Nightwing said glibly as he reached out towards the storage unit's raised door. "I don't think I need it anymore."

* * *

Author's Note: Naturally, there are similarities with the flashback in _Batman:_ _Mask of the Phantasm_ , of course with changes for this story. There was also a bit of a plothole I noticed in the movie: why didn't they get a loan from Bruce to cover the debt to Valestra and co., then pay it back over time? Wasn't even mentioned once in the movie. Hopefully I took care of that with Carl Beaumont's quick explanation. Any disagreements, agreements, or otherwise?


	19. Return to Arkham

Return to Arkham

It had wanted it all to end once the man it had been hunting for so long was carved into pieces. Betrayal had never factored into any of this. With Valestra's pleas for retribution ringing through it's head, the Phantasm knew that this act could not go unanswered.

Black Mask had thought himself smart, hoping to kill off a man he had no further use for, as well as the assassin in one fell swoop. He had underestimated his prey, Valestra willing to throw aside any enmity he had towards it and focus his hatred on the man condemning him to death, and the Phantasm being fast enough to leave behind a ball of explosive flames.

It couldn't go back to Black Mask's lair. Not where the man was protected and at his strongest. With things going his way, Black Mask was not going to slip up and allow an opening that could end him just as he was about to unleash Operation Dread.

The Phantasm had seen only pieces of this plan here and there, but did not have enough information to make an informed guess as to what its new target was up to.

Ending Black Mask's life was not going to be enough. To have his grand design crushed before his very eyes and then the final, lethal strike, that was what that bastard deserved.

To do that, information was going to be needed. Fortunately, the Phantasm had managed to glean a few small details of this plan. It had also found out about a few safehouses the False Face Society kept on an active basis. These places held stashes and other "toys" that Black Mask could employ at any time he wanted. There were also "caretakers" around that kept these safehouses functional.

Those who were fully affiliated with the False Face Society knew what was up. They had the information that the Phantasm desired. It was only a matter of taking the plunge, getting rid of its element of surprise so that it could begin taking away what Black Mask cherished most.

The auto garage that it had singled out rested across the street from the apparition's perch. Camouflaged and unsuspecting, who would guess that this was a front for Black Mask? Unsuspecting was a good word to describe it as no one in there knew of the visitor they would soon have.

It would make its entrance through the back and stealthily make its way into the belly of this insignificant beast.

The specialized smoke it used clouded around its feet as it made its entrance into the building, dying out once it was inside. Pausing, the Phantasm listened for any sounds of movement or voice to inform it of anyone close by. Nothing, but that was only a matter a time. All it needed to do was wander about until it found what it was looking for.

Currently, it was in a small hallway, four doorways in sight, two on its left, one to its right, and one straight ahead. The door on its right was locked, but there was no sound from inside. It could always come back later and check it out.

Next was the door to its immediate right. This one was open, but the only things in here were spare tools and garbage. Onto the next one. Taking the second door on it's right, again open, the Phantasm found another, smaller hallway, a door to its immediate left that led to a bathroom. One no one was using.

Taking several steps forward, the Phantasm reached the door at the end and here it could hear sounds on the other end. Quite a thick door here; probably to seal off any of the loud noises that occurred on a regular basis in this place. Gripping the doorknob, it cracked the door open, peering out to see what was going on.

There were two men in the large room, both of them working on a large, armored truck. It wasn't the kind used to transport reams of capital from business to banks and vice versa, but a homemade one. One man was using a blowtorch to sear a large plate of metal onto the side of the truck while the other was ratcheting on a heavy-duty grill guard to the front.

This did not appear like some kind of pet project or a hobby one did on the weekend in more private places. What were they up to?

The man working on the grill guard pulled away, maybe to admire his work, before calling out to the other. It couldn't quite hear what was being said, thanks to that blowtorch, but from the way the man's body was turning, he was about to go on break, and head in its direction.

Closing the door, the Phantasm pulled back and hid in the bathroom, waiting to see what would happen next. A moment later, the door it had only just closed opened, confirming that it had been correct in its guess. The man passed by the bathroom without a glance, heading back the way the Phantasm had previously checked.

He was by himself. Well, it only need one of them to talk.

Calling up its smoke, the Phantasm followed after the man, returning to the first hallway it had entered upon arrival. The man had taken a left to the only door it hadn't investigated and was in what looked like a breakroom. The man had left the door opened behind him, presenting an even more tempting opportunity.

The masked killed allowed the smoke to flow into the breakroom, ghosting towards it's unaware prey. All it had to do now was wait.

The man gave a small cough, heedless of the smoke that reached his feet. Fumes of its secret additive rose unseen through the air into the man's nostrils, a simple act of breathing taking it in. The seconds passed with no sign of effect on him, but time was all that was needed. The man's discomfort began to grow, a slight disorientation taking hold of him.

These were the signs the Phantasm was waiting for. Now was the time to act.

"What the…?"

A sound behind it. The other man. Well, all the Phantasm needed was one of them.

Spinning around, the ghastly killer lunged at the potential interloper, slicing open the man's neck before he knew what was going on. A line of blood splatter on the wall beside them, the man's eyes wide open in incomprehension, slowly catching up to his situation.

As blood began to seep into his air passages, the Phantasm grabbed its victim by his shirt. Spinning again, it took the dying man with him, throwing him into the breakroom where it's original prey was beginning to show signs that the poison in his system was working.

He gave out a cry as his friend crumpled on the blood, eyes bulging at a sight only he could see. In his panic, he pulled out his gun that was previously hidden out of sight. He began to fire at the corpse on the blood, bullets ricocheting off the floor. Taking advantage of his distraction, the killer dashed in and with another slice of its blade disarmed the man.

Shoving him down on the breakroom table, the Phantasm held its blade close to the man's face threateningly.

With its deep, ominous voice, it made one demand.

"Tell me everything about Operation Dread."

* * *

Carl Beaumont had been a well-known investor when Bruce had been younger. Though Beaumont Accounting hadn't reached the heights it had with Andrea at the helm, it was a rising star, even back then. A philanthropist, he donated generously, sometimes much more than he should. He was known for his claims of being a family man, even after the death of his wife.

However, not everything was rosy with Mr. Beaumont. His name soon attracted the attention of the Mob, particularly the Valestra Family, who began to use Beaumont to invest their money, a novel way to launder their illegally gained notes. On multiple occasions the investor had been seen in the company of this family, including Chuckie Sol, Buzz Bronsky, and even Sal Valestra himself.

It didn't stop there either. Businesses that would go on to be fronts for the family were created with the assistance of Carl Beaumont, dirtying his hands further. Then, out of nowhere, poof, he disappeared along with his daughter and hadn't been seen since.

That was just one issue that plagued Batman's mind. What happened to cause Beaumont to vanish as he had? If Andrea were to be trusted, and he didn't have any reason not to, then it was because Beaumont had gotten in deep with Valestra and had no choice but to leave. Embezzling from the Mob was not the way to get on their good side. This at least provided further evidence to the Beaumont-Valestra link and added to the likelihood that this masked wraith was indeed Carl Beaumont.

Yet, there was still the issue of where he got his hands on Crane's fear toxin. Either he stole it, or obtained it through more earnest means, neither of which were palatable options.

As if that weren't enough, there was also the truck Batman had confiscated from the Batclan, which had been loaded with canisters of fear toxin. That was a truckload too much for the vigilante's taste and Barbara Gordon's assumption that there was more was well founded. Zatanna's report that the warehouse had been emptied recently only added more evidence to that assertion.

Unfortunately, the Dark Knight didn't have many leads with the shipments. Other than the ingredients being common at chemical plants, all of which could be found in Gotham, there wasn't much to go on. A look into the warehouse's owner hadn't raised any flags, so he was placing further investigation into it to a side.

However, there was one person he could talk to and he knew exactly where to find him. That was why he was gliding through the halls of Arkham, his dark armor cloaking and blending him in with the shadows.

He knew his way to his destination and he found Jonathan Crane's cell-like room effortlessly. The wiry man was lying on his bed, facing his cell's wall, which left his back facing the door. Picking the lock, Batman silently opened the door and entered the room, closing it behind him as he approached the sleeping inmate.

"Crane," he growled.

Crane awoke with a start, practically leaping off his bed before flipping around, looking up at the vigilante with wide eyes. "You again?!" he exclaimed.

In an instant, Batman shot his hand down and grabbed the thin man by the neck, forcing him up and off the bed and slammed his back up against the wall. "We need to talk," he told him.

In response, Crane made gagging sounds, his hands clawing at the Dark Knight's arm to yank it off. Batman merely loosened his grip, but refused to let the other man go. "I found more of your toxin in the city. I want to know who's making it and why."

"What are you talking about?" the thin man hacked out.

The dark-clad man yanked Crane forward, sticking his face into the thin man's. "Don't lie to me," he growled lowly before ramming him back against the wall hard.

"I don't know what you're talking about," Crane snapped back.

Batman squeezed his hand, which caused the wiry man to begin gagging again. "Then let me refresh your memory. You mentioned having a benefactor. I want to know who it is."

"What does it matter? If he was truly my benefactor, do you think I'd still be here?" was Crane's retort once he released his tight grip. "Besides, I never told him how to make the stuff."

"Then why is there a warehouse full of _your_ fear toxin in Gotham?" Batman snapped, baring his teeth in anger. "You told someone your formula; why else would there be more?"

"Why would I tell anyone else the secret to making _my_ brainchild?" the thin man challenged.

That was a legitimate point, especially for someone of Crane's ego. However, the vigilante knew stalling when he saw it. So he let go of the man, letting him drop onto his knees on the mattress, gasping loudly as he sucked in precious oxygen. That left him wide open for the fist Batman slammed into his cheek, snapping his head to a side and forcing him down hard on his bed. A pathetic cry tore from Crane's lips as he clutched the side of his face with both hands.

"You're stalling!" Batman roared. "Your next words better be the ones I want to hear, or I promise you, you'll be spending the rest of the night in your cell in pain. The medical staff have left for the night and won't be back until the morning. That's a _long_ time to spend with a lacerated spleen and broken ribs."

"Not necessarily," a familiar, if not unwelcomed voice remarked. "While I caution you against harming my patients, I would like to point out that I am a doctor and would be able to give some medical relief. To be a psychiatrist, you do have to go through medical school."

Turning his head, Batman saw the Professor Hugo Strange standing on the other side of the glass wall, his impeccable white lab coat standing out in the darkness of the hall. Of all the people to show, it had to be the one to undermine his interrogation tactic, which unfortunately worked if Crane's relieved expression was any indication. Glowering at the bald man, the Dark Knight returned his sights to Crane, who had taken to looking smug at him.

Well, if he thought Strange was saving him, the thin man was sorely mistaken. So, he changed his tone to a calmer, stoic one. "How quickly do you think the psychiatrist can get into the cell?" he asked Crane. "I give it twenty seconds before he has the door opened, thirty at the slowest. Do you know how many fingers I can break in twenty seconds? How many ribs?"

"You're very adaptable to your circumstances. Fascinating," Strange commented, arms behind his back.

Crane's eyes darted to the professor before returning to the vigilante. "H-how many?" he asked shakily.

"I don't know actually," he admitted. "But you're the perfect person for me to try it out on. As an academic, you've limited your physical activity to the minimum, which has left your bones weaker than the average man. That should make it very easy to snap each and every finger with the minimal amount of force."

Crane licked his dried lips, swallowing loudly. "I...I never met the man. Never got close. Only his representative."

"Who was it?"

"The man has asked you a question, Jonathan," Strange added his two cents. "It would be a setback in your progress if you were to refuse to answer him."

Crane's eyes looked over at the psychiatrist with uncertainty, then returned to the man threatening him. "Salvatore Valestra."

A dead man. Goddamn it. "Who was Valestra working for," he pressed on, regardless of his building frustration. If Valestra was a representative, then that meant he had someone he reported to. By nature, Crane wasn't someone to let something go at face value. He knew _more_.

"I never found out," Crane admitted, his forehead creasing in frustration. "They were very secretive."

"They," the vigilante repeated.

"You're very perceptive to pick up on innocuous clues," Strange remarked. "Most wouldn't have picked up on that."

"They called themselves the False Face Society." Crane squirmed under the detective gaze. "That's all I know. Honest."

The False Face Society? Batman didn't like the sound of that. Its name wasn't all that threatening, like you would find with a street gang. The Mob was also ruled out since the group favored a moniker instead of a family name. "Tell me everything you know about them," he growled lowly.

"Only that they approached me several months ago. They knew about my firing by the university. They...were very interested in my work, specifically my toxin. Of course, I never shared with them how to make it. I did offer to make it for them in return for money to continue my research. Next thing I knew, I was told to report to Valestra to 'prove' myself to them," he explained. "You know the rest of the story," he added bitterly.

Which still left how they got the formula. If he were to believe Crane's words, then it was likely that someone stole the formula without his knowledge. Entirely possible, but Batman couldn't help but lean towards that being improbable. Call it a hunch.

So if Crane couldn't tell him how they got his toxin, there were other ways to get that information. "How much did you make for them?"

"Only what I had on me when you interfered," Crane retorted. "The police confiscated what I had left. Of course, it would only have to be stolen from the evidence locker if anyone was deadset on making more. A little reverse engineering and you too can have your own batch of my not yet patented fear toxin."

"He does make a good point. If this False Face Society is as powerful as it sounds, it wouldn't be much trouble to have an officer of the law on your payroll," Strange said. "What is your reply, I wonder."

The vigilante had to consciously ignore the peanut gallery. While Batman had considered that possibility, the ease of which the wiry man suggested that possibility made red flags go off in his head. Crane was hiding something, he could feel it. "You're lying to me," he stated with certainty. Leaning over the thin man, his shadow enveloping him, the Dark Knight added in a deathly tone, "You've made more, a lot more than you're telling me. You've got three seconds before I break both of your thumbs and make it impossible for you to write ever again."

"Think about it, Batman," Crane nearly snarled back. "Why was I robbing a chemical company, hmm? The ingredients to make my toxin are not common, and the Society hadn't given me a cent yet to make as much as you say exists."

"Who said anything about you stealing your ingredients? I'm talking about now, since your incarceration."

"Where I've been locked up this entire time with no visitors. Just ask my doctor over there. He can vouch for that." Crane gestured towards Strange.

"In an asylum within minimal security and outdated security cameras," he retorted. "Believe me, it's not all that hard to go unnoticed here. In fact, anyone could have taken you out of your cell, taken you off the grounds to create more of your toxin, and return you without anyone being the wiser."

"I take offense to that. We have been improving our security protocols over the years," Strange butted in.

"Then how do you explain me?" Batman rebuffed him.

Both men fell silent, though for different reasons. And then, out of nowhere, Crane began to clap his hands. "You got me," he admitted, his voice sounding impressed. "You really are a great detective. You're right, I did give them my formula before I went to the Phizer plant. Collateral in the event that I was apprehended, which as you can imagine came true. It sickened me to do so, but I had to fund my research at any cost. You're well aware that they've been making more of my toxin, but you also know it takes a sizable amount of ingredients to do so. In fact, if what you claim is true with the current amount, they're going to need more right about now."

Something about Crane's words rang false in the vigilante's head, but that could wait. No matter how much was untrue, if the possibility that this False Face Society was out in Gotham right now, then he needed to get out there and stop them. Pulling away, he strode to the cell's door and opened it, ignoring Strange as the door slammed shut behind him. Disappearing into the shadows of the Arkham corridors, the Dark Knight was on his way out.

* * *

In the bowels of City Hall, Gotham's newest district attorney was making a late night of things.

The fallout from the recent death of one of Gotham's crime bosses was continuing to reverberate throughout the city. Right now a war between the remaining families was beginning to commence. As of right now, the contenders intending to take Valestra's now open spot included the twin McKillen sisters Shannon and Erin, newcomer Rupert Thorne, and Gotham native Guido Bertinelli.

Only an hour ago, Harvey had received word from the GCPD that Thorne was taking it to the McKillens, two deaths already confirmed in a shootout.

No sign of the Batman showing up

This was not good in his book. When organized crime began to fight with itself, everyone suffered because neither side cared about innocent bystanders. Collateral damage was one excuse he had heard before. Another was "they shouldn't have been there in the first place," as if it was their fault they were in the wrong place at the wrong time.

Once he had been a defense attorney, a real good one according to his clients. In the beginning, he had started with the less fortunate and those he considered wrongfully accused. Of course, he had been warned that not all of his clients would be clean. And yes, there were some real scumbags he had to defend. He gave it his all because that was his job.

One couldn't run a law office without money, though. Many of his clients couldn't pay their bills. As a result, he had to take on wealthier clients. Many of them, as it turned out, were connected with or part of the mob. What else could he do, though? He had to provide for himself, and for his then fiancé, Gilda.

That was all in the past, he had to remind himself. Now he was on the other side. The right side. He knew all the strategies mob lawyers would use in a court of law. He knew how to dismantle them, how to make sure those bastards got what they deserved. No more slipping through a legal net, no more loopholes, and no more technicalities. To the best of his abilities, he was not going to rest until he put every one of them in Blackgate.

He was not naive enough to expect the mob to take this lying down, though. The McKillens whom he had represented once were more than livid about his turnaround. Thorne...got under his skin more than others. Only met the man once, when he had tried to "contribute" to his election campaign. The air of superiority he had rubbed him the wrong way, big time.

He considered those two families to big the most problematic ones. Bertinelli was a little fish, no matter how inflated his opinion was of himself. Didn't hurt to know that the Batman had paid him a visit once.

Now, if only he could get in touch with that man. The Batman. The man who had inspired him to be more than what he was. To become something bigger than himself, to exert all his effort into saving this city. Okay, that was a bit over dramatic there, but it didn't change how he felt about it.

That inspiring power than vigilante had...it's what drove him to make a change. It's what drove him to start a political campaign to unseat the previous district attorney. It was what was driving him to show others that they didn't need to be afraid of the cowards that the mob was made up of.

Harvey knew that the Batman could be an invaluable asset. Knowing the limits of what his office could do, knowing the limits of what the police could, and knowing that the vigilante didn't have those limits, the potential to turn things back to that forward movement three years ago was overwhelming.

It was an open secret how the current commissioner had had dealings with the Batman. Gordon had used the vigilante to fight the corruption of the city and had nearly won it. This now baffled Harvey as Gordon's tune had changed. He was showing hostility towards the man he considered a hero. The working relationship that had once existed between the police and Batman looked as dead as the recently deceased Valestra.

Gordon was going to have to pull out whatever stick he had up his ass, Harvey told himself as he climb the stairs in the building's foyer, a stack of files tucked under one arm.

Since going to Gordon wasn't going to get him closer to reaching the Batman, Harvey figured he was going to have to do it himself. The question was: how? It wasn't like there was a way to contact him. It was kinda frustrating. How would you call a bat-themed vigilante anyway? Did he have a cell phone? E-mail account? Some other means of communication?

Entering his office that was now beginning to look like his old office back at his old private practice, he set the files he currently had on the first available space he found. Swiping up a remote, he turned the power on to the small, high definition television he had. It was a habit of his to keep it on the news. As a defense attorney, you never knew where your next client would come from. As a prosecutor, it was now who you would be trying next. Plus he worked better with some white noise in the air.

"Alright, what do we have?" he said softly to himself as he took his seat, grabbing the top file from the stack he had brought with him. "What's your story?"

He had only just finished scanning through the first page when a sharp sound of static interrupted his concentration. Glancing up from the file, he frowned as the picture on the television alternated from the news to a picture of white static. Huh, didn't know high-definition television could do-

Suddenly, the image of a man in a white and black suit appeared. His face was that of a black, grinning skull, something from out of a horror movie. That was the best way Harvey could explain it.

 _"Gotham City, this is Black Mask speaking."_


	20. New and Improved Halloween

New and Improved Halloween

Across Gotham City, every available electronic device from televisions to computer monitors, advertisement screens, and radios of all sorts were taken over by the visage of a man in a black, skull-designed mask. From every available speaker, the masked man's rough voice boomed out, capturing the attention of those not already captured by his sudden broadcast.

" _Good evening, Gotham. Sorry for interrupting your previously scheduled programing, but there is a matter the concerns all of you._

" _I am announcing that there is going to be a change in management. Tonight is a time for change. For too long has our city languished under the mismanagement of our elected leaders. For too long have the rich and powerful sucked this city dry for their own ends, leaving those of us who work for their homes, their families, their freedom dead by the roadside, hollowed husks. You know what I speak of, this decadence."_

Outside City Hall, two white panel vans pulled up to the building's steps. Before the vehicles came to a stop, the side doors slid open, revealing masked men armed to the teeth stepping out. Their weapons were military grade machine guns loaded with high caliber bullets made to piece through any body armors they came across.

Their masks, though, consisted of various animals from a horse, to an orangutan, to a spider face, to a duck. In total there was about twenty of them pouring out, all eager to begin their assault.

" _Forget your mayors, your councilmen, your police commissioners and their lackeys. None of them matter anymore. All you need to worry about is the Black Mask. I am your new mayor, your councilman, and my acolytes are your police force. We will be leading the city of Gotham back to its glory days."_

Outside the pharmaceutical branch of Wayne Enterprises, a large eighteen wheeler pulled up at the back of the building. Backing up towards the back entrance, a man in a gorilla mask stopped the vehicle, exited the truck's cab, and marched towards the back. Raising up the sliding door of the trailer, he released the crew who had hitched a ride with him.

Led by a woman in a bull mask, the group of masked men marched their way to the door. With a card key, the bull-masked woman unlocked the door and allowed her followers entrance.

" _And we ask only one thing of you: stay out of our way. You find one of my boys on the street, you walk away. You see them walking out of your apartment building, you hold that door open for 'em. And if they demand your money, you better give it to 'em. Like I said, this is my turf now and everyone follows_ my _rules on_ my _turf. From this moment on, Gotham belongs to the False Face Society."_

A modified, metal-clad panel van screeched to a halt outside of a butcher shop. Stepped out from the passenger side door, a chubby man wearing a pig mask held up an rpg and aimed it at the closed business. Pulling the trigger, he fired a rocket straight into the building, shattering the show window in front. An explosion lit up the inside of the building, the pig-masked man making audible oinking noises as he turned back towards the van he had exited, reaching for another weapon.

From the driver's seat, a man in a squirrel mask began firing a pistol up in the air as more men exited the van behind him. Armed with guns and Molotov cocktails, they began to have a private party of their own.

" _To really ring in this time of change, tonight is going to be a special one for you all. I like to call it Halloween 2.0. That's right, for tonight, I'm going to be deputizing each and one of you as honorary members of my Society. Find your old Halloween masks, and take to the streets. Don't worry about anybody stopping ya. Make some changes of your own tonight. Make a mess, starts some fires, and enjoy the holiday spirit."_

Carrying weapons that ranged from firearms to baseball bats, masked individuals pour out from the woodwork of Gotham, taking up Black Mask's proclamation with zeal. Some were hooting and hollering while others stalked their way through the streets, intent on paying a visit to those that had wronged them, real or perceived.

Heedless of the chaos slowly beginning to boil, a sinister chuckle echoed out from the screen. _"Light it up, boys!"_

High above in the dark Gotham night sky, a large light painted the image of a skull against the clouds that had settled over the city. Other spotlights throughout the city flashed on, posting more of the skull symbols up into the sky.

The False Face Society was making its move at last.

* * *

"Get everybody out there!" Gordon ordered as he stormed out of his office, slipping his coat on. Already he could hear the sounds of booms in the distance. Whatever this Black Mask was trying to do, they were in the thick of it. And it was only beginning.

"Commissioner," Sarah called out to him, intercepting him. "We just got a call from City Hall. Armed men are trying to break in. They're requesting back up."

Shit. While Gordon doubted that anybody important was still up there, that was a risk he couldn't take. The last thing he needed was for someone politically connected to be trapped in there. Once this was over, heads would be rolling for that fact alone.

"I'll go to City Hall," he stated. "You, you, and you," he pointed at three of the nearest officers, "come with me. I want SWAT there five minutes ago. You—"

"I'm going out there," his wife stated as she pulled on her shoulder holster. Huh, hadn't noticed she had been holding it. Cutting him off, "I'll try to put out some of the other fires."

"Be careful," he told her before resuming his march. Passing by a window, he paused as he took note of the skull signals lighting up the sky. Grimacing, he turned away in disgust.

Whoever this Black Mask was, he had an inflated opinion of himself.

* * *

"You heard the man, ladies," Huntress stated as she loaded up her crossbow. "We have a party to crash," she added as she glanced over at her teammates.

Black Canary looked pensive. Maybe there was some uncertainty there. Huntress didn't blame her, though. There hadn't been anything this big since the Joker tried to recreate his Great Gotham Fire stunt. Even through that, they had kinda been on the sidelines. This time, there weren't any aliens or superhumans around to pull their asses out of the fire. They would have to play a bigger part this time.

She thought back to Joker's original rampage, recalling how...enormous it had been. On a scale of one to ten, ten being one of the worst disasters to hit the city, it ranked a twelve. And there had been little old her in the middle of it, trying to make a difference. What had been going through her mind then was probably going through BC's right now.

Katana wasn't as anxious. For a while, Huntress had noticed that the other had been a little...off. Especially after the meeting with Batman. She hadn't let her swords out of her sights since, and it was worrying her a bit. In fact, she had a hand on one of the swords' pommels right now, like she was worried she was going to lose it at any second.

Other than that, she was in serious mode and they were going to need a lot of that right now.

"Hey, this is going to be like that Jokerz riot we took on. Piece of cake," she remarked. Cracking her knuckles, she added, "Let's kick some ass."

* * *

Racing away from the haunting visage of Arkham Asylum, Batman pressed down on the accelerator of the Batmobile as he tried to speed up his return to Gotham. Through the windshield, he could see the sight of skulls lighting up the sky above the city as well as plumes of smoke beginning to rise from it.

His gut told him that the so-called False Face Society was making its move. Crane's words took advantage of the moment to echo through his head.

" _In fact, if what you claim is true with the current amount, they're going to need more right about now."_

Though he knew that Crane knew more, further confirmed by his prediction of what was happening in the city, Gotham needed him now more than it needed him interrogating Crane. That could wait until later.

Beside him, Zatanna was almost unnaturally quiet. He didn't need to look to know that she was taking this situation seriously. She balled a fist in her lap, a sign that she wasn't as happy about the sight before them as he was.

Switching on the radio, he listened to report after report of violence, Gotham's finest having their hands full already. He could hear loud popping sounds in the background, his eyes narrowing in recognition as he identified the noise as gunfire.

"How are we going to do this." That wasn't a question coming from the magician.

Before he could answer, a voice screamed out from the radio, _"Officer down! Officer down! We need back up at City Hall! I can see…"_ The officer cut off as gunfire interrupted him. _"...I think there's fifteen of them. They're trying to break in and they're firing at us! Request for back up, now!"_

" _Help's on the way. Hold on."_

That was Gordon's voice. Though he had kept his distance from the commissioner thus far, he knew he couldn't leave him to that situation. They had been allies once; it was time to resurrect the partnership that had once formed five years ago.

"I take it we're heading to City Hall," Zatanna commented.

A shrill beeping noise stopped him from answering. What was with it with alarms interrupting him?

"What's that?" Zatanna demanded, eyes searching until she found a flashing light on the console.

It took him a moment to recall what that alarm was for. "Someone's broken into Wayne Enterprises," he growled. With the way his business had been broken into and attacked, he had figured that it would be a good idea to have some kind of system set up to alert him to each occasion. He hadn't thought he would be using it this soon.

"Oh wow, you think they're shopping for executives?" she snarked.

This was a problem. He needed to get to City Hall and check out the situation there. At the same time, he needed to get to Wayne Enterprises. He couldn't be two places at once, though…

"I'll handle City Hall. You stop the intruders," he stated.

"What? Think I can't handle a few goons with guns?"

"What makes you think the other group doesn't have guns?"

Zantanna opened her mouth to retort, only to hesitate before admitting, "You have a point."

"Tell me when you have the situation under control," he told her as he entered the outskirts of Gotham.

"I'm only doing this 'cause you asked so nicely," she replied before casting her spell and vanishing from the car.

* * *

The three of them weren't late to the party. Clenching his fists tightly, Nightwing glared down at the sight of masked individuals smashing apart their city. Beside him, Robin readied his specialized "Birdarangs" as he sometimes jokingly called him. To his other side, Batgirl gazed coldly at the violence, practically an ice queen at this point.

"We go in quick. Take as many as you can out as fast as you can. They can't cause any harm if they aren't conscious," Batgirl stated, outlining their game plan.

Good to hear that she was putting aside any thoughts of retiring early. Though he was concerned about her being out here, the eldest of the vigilante trio knew that they would need all the hands they could get. Sure, it interrupted her research into that factory, but this was more immediate if you got his drift.

Brandishing his night sticks, he spied out various vantage points from which he could slow down his descent. Making several plans on how he was going to jump off this building they were all perched on, he gestured towards Robin to fire away.

He didn't wait for Robin to launch their attack; he was already leaping off the building towards a nearby telephone pole. He planted his feet against the wooden object, letting his upper body fall for a few seconds before pushing off and straight down towards his first victim. Crossing his arms in front of him, and in turn his weaponized batons, he struck the first masked rioted from behind slamming the guy chest and face first into the pavement.

The life of a former acrobat was paying off. Combine that with some taekwondo and a little karate he had picked up, along with the batons he had gotten his hands on, he was going to be doing a lot more.

Using his momentum, he pulled his legs forward like a fulcrum before pushing off the poor guy under him to strike the guy next to him in the face with his feet. He continued up into the air, twisting his body around so that he landed feet first onto the hood of a slightly damaged car.

Taking only a second to identify his next target, he was launching off the car and swinging his baton with all the force he could muster into the face of his mark. He continued in this pattern, starting his next move as soon as he ended the one previous, taking down as many as he could as quickly as he could.

He was so focused on this task, he didn't noticed the flashing lights of the patrol cars making their way towards his location.

* * *

"You gotta be kidding me," Bullock practically snarled as he screeched his borrowed patrol unit to a halt.

Up ahead, fighting against the raging crowd, he could spot about three of them, all in skin tight outfits, all of them in dark colors, except that one sporting that stand-out red outfit, and all of them were wearing masks.

They were multiplying, those freaking vigilantes. Now one of them was trying to steal the Bat-freak's look.

You know what, that was fine. Bullock didn't care. Oh no. You see, everybody around here were wearing masks and causing all sorts of problems. This meant it was a time to start cracking skulls and handcuff as many of these creeps as possible.

You can bet he was going to stop at nothing to reach these latest Bat-wannabes.

Shoving open the driver's side door, Bullock stepped out of his car, cracking his knuckles in anticipation of the fight in front of him.

* * *

Despite what was going down, Zatanna was actually excited. For once, Bruce was letting her help—you know, do things without having to wring it out of him. She was ready and willing to do everything in her considerable power and she was going to make good of her job.

So when she appeared in front of the corporate headquarters of Wayne Enterprises, she came across a peculiar sight.

Nothing. There wasn't anything going on at all. Of all the times for this to happen, as the city was falling into chaos and disorder and rampant violence, the one piece of Gotham that drew trespassing and property damage to it like an insect to a bug zapper, was untouched.

That didn't make any sense!

Yeah, okay, security seemed tighter, she'd give them that. The guards were locking up all the entrances and taking post behind them, guns at the ready. They were prepared for something to come down, just standing there, doing the worst thing imaginable in this kind of situation: waiting. Waiting for the inevitable to come barreling down the street and ram through the doors. That was always the worst part. And yet, nothing was happening—not even graffiti was threatening this place, which went back to the earlier point of none of this making any sense.

This place was always a target for something! Night of Ice, Joker raid, stuff like that! But on this night when the mysterious False Face Society was declaring it owned Gotham, nothing was coming to this hotspot. Zip. Nada.

Bruce was so sure that his company was being robbed, though. He wouldn't lie to her and say that the business that provided all his crime-fighting gear was under attack in a weak attempt to get rid of her. She had magic now; she was useful, people!

As she tapped her foot impatiently, the dark-haired woman continued to grouse. Seriously, it wasn't like anyone could mistake Wayne Tower for anything else. Even with all the other Wayne Enterprises buildings, you would sooner mistake the Statue of Liberty for the Eiffel…

Wait, weren't there more places in Gotham with the Wayne Enterprises logo on it? The more she thought about it, the more she thought so. So would mean that another Wayne Enterprises building was being raided.

Maybe these guys were smarter than she thought.

Okay, she could handle this, she just...needed to rethink her spell, that's all. It would be all sorts of embarrassing to contact Bruce and tell him she went to the wrong place. How to reword this though?

How about, instead of saying take her to Wayne Enterprises, take her to attack on Wayne Enterprises? That sounded good...unless other Wayne Enterprises buildings were also under attack. The more time that passed, the greater the possibility of that happening.

No more thinking time, Zatanna, acting time now!

"Og ot enyaw sesirpretne ni-kaerb!"

She could feel her energy being zapped away, something she fully expected and was ready for. It didn't take as much magic to use as when she first used the spell, a sign that she was getting better and better at this.

As the visual of Wayne Enterprises HQ dissolved away, it was replaced with that of a corridor. It wasn't drab gray, but bright white with green-tiled floors, and looked all around nicer than some of the places she found herself in.

Oh and there was a woman straight ahead wearing a ridiculous animal mask and holding a very big gun. A gun that looked like an Uzi. An Uzi that was aimed right at her. An Uzi that started firing only a second as her spell ended.

* * *

Gordon always felt stress when he was anywhere near City Hall. The only times he was here was when he needed to meet up with whoever was mayor at the time or, more recently, the district attorney.

That time when the Joker gassed a whole crowd of people here was a one off.

It was also the last place he wanted to die.

Once again, he was racing back here. Black Mask wanted the elected officials here and he wanted them dead. Either that or he wanted to ransom them. Or whatever else you do with elected officials that involved weapons of any kind.

Up ahead, he could see the building that was one of his greatest sources of stress and he was prepared to fight to defend it. There were no rubber bullets going to be used here. As he closed in, he spotted a couple patrol cars pulled up the building, both with their sides facing the steps in front of the place. A few seconds later, he saw officers using the cars as shields, crouching close to the ground, probably with their firearms in hand.

Next thing he knew, bullets were piercing through the windshield, giving a reason for the scene up ahead.

Lowering himself, he ordered the officer beside him, "Pull up as close as you can."

There was more gunfire from the armed men, soon followed by a loud popping noise. From the way the man beside him driving was struggling at the wheel and the fact that the car was swerving, one of their tires must have been shot out.

"Brake!" he roared.

How they managed to come to a stop, he didn't know but what he did know was that more bullets were being fired at them. The police officer whose name he didn't know cried out as he was hit.

Not good. Even worse, Gordon's side of the car was facing City Hall. If he got out, he'd be mowed down before he knew it.

Fortunately, the gunfire turned to other approaching patrol cars. Keeping low, Gordon reached around the driver and grabbed at the door handle. Pulling it, he pushed with all his might and opened the door.

"Sorry," he apologized through clenched teeth as he unbuckled the injured officer and pushed him out of the car. After that, he dragged himself out of the car, taking care of the officer's injuries. Once he was out and on the pavement, he maneuvered himself around, reaching back into the patrol car to snatch the radio receiver.

"Officer shot. Officer shot. We need SWAT here, damn it!" he spoke into the radio. Releasing the receiver, he positioned himself towards the front of the car, drawing out his gun.

Time to start returning fire.

* * *

Pushing on the throttle, Huntress increased the speed on her motorcycle. Streets, cars, and buildings flashed by her in a blur as she sped towards the nearest disturbance she could find.

A large van with metal welded onto it looked like a sign of a disturbance. That and a bunch of guys wearing animal masks and trying to start a riot were a big hint.

Up ahead, she could see two of them, one firing off at the windows of a nearby apartment complex, the other handling bottles with strips of cloth stuck into their necks. Well, you know what they say, it's all fun and games until the Molotov cocktails come out. She noted the amount of space between the two of them, a daring thought coming to mind.

With a smirk, she pulled out her retractable bo staff from her belt and held it out in front of her, keeping one hand on the motorcycle's handlebars all the while. With a press of a button, the ends on either side of the staff shot out, fully forming the staff. Gunning it, she sped faster and faster to her two targets who were alerted to her by the sound of her engine.

For them it would be too late.

She felt satisfaction as she drove between the two masked men, clotheslining them with her bo staff. Braking, she watched as the two men were sent flying until they hit the pavement, skidding against it until they came to a stop.

Oh yeah, that felt good.

"Good move!" Black Canary called out as she entered the scene, pouncing on a man wearing a snarling dog mask. With her moves, she disarmed him and gave him the beatdown of his life, striking him several times in the face before kicking his feet out from under him and stomping down on his chest.

Bullets ricocheting off the street around her, and her motorcycle reminded her that she wasn't here to admire BC's fighting prowess. She was forgiven as Katana swept by, slicing off the barrels of the guns and then knocking the men out with the flat of her blades against their heads.

Time to get to work. Scanning her surroundings, she spotted a few Jokerz who were trying to get in on the fun here. Sure, False Face Whatever declares a party and clowns always have to show up to it.

Putting her bo staff away and pulling out her crossbow, she revved her engine and drove at them. Firing an arrow, she disarmed one clown wannabe and while he was swearing up a storm, she tucked her crossbow away and retrieved the staff. Holding it out perpendicular to her body, she performed another clotheslining maneuver. Must have taken out three of them there...except they were conscious. Hopping off her bike, she corrected that, nailing them in the heads to make sure they went to dreamland for a while.

Looking up, she glared after several Jokerz making a smart decision for once and running for their lives. With the sounds of violence behind her, she had better things to deal with than chasing after some counter culture hacks. Turning to the action, she caught sight of a guy in a pig mask aiming a...was that a damn bazooka?

When a rocket fired out of it, that pretty much answered her question. She dived out of the way, leaving her bike behind to be blown to smithereens behind her. The vehicle was launched up into the air, flames all around it. She watched it in slight horror until it reached as high as it would go before dropping back down to the street. She scrambled away to make sure it wouldn't land on or near her, the motorcycle giving a last crunching sound as it landed.

That motherfucker.

Glaring at the man who had the freaking balls to destroy her pride and joy, she suddenly had a craving for bacon. Good thing she had a pig nearby to carve up.

"Huntress! Behind you!" Black Canary cried out, bringing the masked vigilante out of her homicidal thoughts.

Whipping her head behind her, Huntress saw the front of a metal-covered van bearing down on her. She threw herself out of the way just in time as the large, gaudy-looking automobile barreled past her.

"Katana!" she shouted, gesturing at the fleeing van as it passed by its parked brethren. She hadn't been sure that her sword-wielding partner had heard her, but she got confirmation as the oriental woman broke away from the fighting and dashed at the escaping van.

With a mighty leap, Katana jumped up and grabbed onto the van's side, being carried away with it.

Trusting Katana to take care of it, Huntress returned her attention to the pig-masked man who was busy reloading his weapon. Gripping onto her bo staff, she knew who she was about to meet.

* * *

It had been the sounds of gunfire that had alerted Harvey Dent that they had visitor. From the nearest window he could find, in an office across the hallway from his, he got a good look at the masked men who were trying to break into the building, firing without care at the doors.

With that kind of artillery, security wasn't going to hold out for long. What these men wanted, he had no idea, but he guessed that they weren't here to bribe anybody.

Maybe kill everybody in the building instead.

He didn't know that for sure but he wasn't about to make the mistake that that wasn't something they were after. And here he was in the very building they were trying to force their way into, without a gun on his person. Yes, he had a concealed handgun license, but today was the day he had left his gun in his car, thinking that he wasn't going to need it.

Looks like he was going to have to bring his pistol in with him every day now. Heck, go for two just in case.

Enough of that, what was he going to do? Time was running out.

Thankfully, the sounds of sirens drawing closer brought a small amount of relief to him. Help was on the way, and quickly too. Now if security could hold on for another minute…

His eyes widened as the masked men began turning their fire onto the cops just as they were beginning to pull up. Those men were setting up positions for a long fight. If they got into the building they would—

The sound of gunfire grew louder, echoing from outside the office. Damn it, they were in.

Like hell he was going to sit here and let them cut him down without a fight. Marching back into his office, it didn't take him long to find a baseball bat he had stashed in one of the cabinets. Not the best thing to have in this situation but it was better than nothing. If he was smart enough, this would be all he needed.

Testing his grip on the handle, he looked back at the doorway, the sounds of shots continuing to echo.

* * *

He let out a growl as he accelerated past scene after scene of violence and chaos. Batman knew he needed to get to City Hall as quickly as possible but to do that would come at the expense of other carnage going unpunished.

He vowed that when he caught up to the person or persons responsible for this, the next time they'd be able to eat solid foods would be in the next decade.

This was all senseless and without reason. What did anyone think to accomplish with all this? If anything, this resembled something the Joker would have come up with. Had come up with. It was as if a member of the Jokerz had decided to take their inspiration from the madman's playbook and try to match him. But even said madman had his reason for doing such things, typically to distract from something else.

If this person was indeed using the same tactics, then all this chaos was hiding the true motive behind it.

He braked and made a hard left, tires shrilly skidding on the asphalt. Petal to the metal and he was off again. Up ahead he could see vehicles blocking his way, either racing up and down the street or stranded.

Hitting the sequence for the jet propulsion system, he was pressed back into his seat as the Batmobile increased its speed dramatically. The front of the vehicle acted as a battering ram, crashing into and threw anything that got in his way. The first car he crashed into was torn to aluminum shreds, the second faring no better, and the third spinning away.

Something was heading his way head-on, resembled one of the vans that the Joker's men had covered in metal sheets three years ago. Déjà vu. Almost

The driver of the rip-offed van tried to swerve out of the way at the last second when he realized Batman wasn't going to chicken out first. He felt a slight shudder as he struck the "armored" van, the van flipping over itself and landing on its top, sliding against the road before coming to a stop.

He almost cracked a smile at that. Almost.

* * *

Seeing the wreckage of one of their specially-made vans, a member of the False Face Society, spoke rapidly into his walkie-talkie.

"I saw the Bat! The fucking Batman is here!"

From his position under attack by a group of three, now two, women vigilantes, the squirrel-masked member of the Society, picked up the radio receiver in his van and demanded. "Where are you?"

"Franklin and-and-and Albany. He'd heading on Franklin!"

The squirrel-masked man did a few calculations in his head.

"I know where he is. I got a little something for him."

* * *

There are only so many things that go through a person's head when they have a gun pointed at them. Most of those thoughts went along the lines of "Oh, shit." For Zatanna, that was the first thing that popped in her head.

The next thought was more helpful.

"Yot!" she all but screamed as she channeled her magical energies. A split-second later, the bull mask-wearing gunwoman pulled the trigger on the Uzi. Instead of the roar of machine gun fire blasting out and riddling her body with holes, a thin rod shot out before coming to a stop, a cloth flag rolling out with the bolded letters of **RAT-TAT-TAT** written on it.

A massive feeling of relief flooded Zatanna as the gunwoman stared at her gun; the magician liked to think she looked stupefied beneath that gaudy bull mask. However, this was not the time to kick back and relax.

Thrusting her hand at the gunwoman, Zatanna then raised it up as she chanted, "Og pu!" Instantly, the woman lifted up into the air, a cry of surprise coming from her mouth as she shot up and slammed hard onto the roof. Rotating her wrist around, Zatanna then dropped her hand as she added, "Dna nwod," the gunwoman dropping to the floor and landing in a heap.

Stepping to the masked woman, the magician looked down dispassionately at her as she groaned. That was when Zatanna reared a foot back and then swung it forward, kicking the woman in the head and knocking her out.

And that was one down. Though she wasn't one to trumpet her success, she didn't really have much of a chance too even if she wanted as the doors down the corridor flung open and...oh wow, that was a lot of guys with a lot of guns. Each one had various mask depicting all sorts of animals over their heads and they were looking right at her.

"Dleihs pu!" she shouted as she threw her hands up in front of her, a transparent violet light appearing in front of her as it filled the hall from ceiling to floor, wall to wall. Though it looked pretty—to her—that didn't stop the goons from pointing their handguns and machine guns and begin unloading them, firing a deafening blast of gunfire. The bullet smashed into the violet-colored shield, causing waves to ripple all over, even colliding with other ripples. It was pretty neat to watch and Zatanna would've been transfixed by it if she hadn't been so busy keeping her concentration focused.

Thankfully, the masked thugs ran out of bullets and began scrambling to reload, pulling out full magazines and flicking the switches to let the empty ones slide out of the guns. Oh, so they wanted another round, huh?

"Dleihs egrahc draworf!" As commanded, Zatanna's shield began rocketing away from her, going down the hall towards the crowd. The men hesitated a moment as they watched the magical shield's approach before realizing it was going right for them. That was when a mass panic erupted among the men as they stopped trying to reload their guns and began scrambling back the way they came.

Unfortunately for them, that was too little too late. The magic shield collided with the group, running them over as the back men began rolling on top of the ones in front of them, forming a large pile of tangled arms and legs. Letting the shield fade away, Zatanna began summoning even more energies as a violet aura began to glow from her body.

Whether it was her or her magic, Zatanna's voice dropped a couple octaves, giving her her best Batman impersonation yet as she chanted, "Emoceb ym steppup." For a brief second, the same violet aura shown on the men before fading away. Throwing her hand wide out to either side of her, each man was flung out of the pile they were and pressed up against the wall. Some were standing up while others were hovering horizontally in midair against the wall, and there were a couple that were upside up diagonal. Holding them like that for a moment, Zatanna then swung her hands towards her, crossing her arms in front of her. That caused the men to fly off their respective wall and collide with the flying men coming at them. Once more they fell into a pile of body parts, but this time there was a lot less groaning.

It was about then the dark-haired woman began to admire her work. Here she was in full control of her situation with about...okay, she couldn't count them to be sure since they were all scrambled with each other, but there were a lot of men completely helpless. She was feeling rather pleased with it until she felt a bead of sweat begin rolling down the side of her face.

That snapped the magician out of her gloating. Her body was starting to feel the effects of her magic expenditure, so she needed to be a lot more conservative with her power. After this at least. Slowly, Zatanna began moving her arms out until they were fully extended in front of her. In response, the men were dragged out of the pile until they lay along the walls. Pulling her arms back towards her, the men began sliding along the floor until each one was separated from each other. A quick glance around told the magician there wasn't anything around she could use to restrain these goons, not without ripping rebar out of the walls and ceiling—she was pretty sure Bruce would not be pleased with that. So, though reluctant, Zatanna channeled her energies once more, a brief feeling of fatigue beginning to eat at her as she casted out, "Ffucdnah raeppa."

As expected, handcuffs appeared on each many, binding their wrists and ankles together so they couldn't run or do much else. Releasing her control on her magic, Zatanna let out a large sigh. That had taken a lot out of her; man, she had thought she could do more than just this. Looked like she still had more to go.

However, now she had to go make sure that there were others here too. Zatanna hoped—read: prayed—that there weren't others. Beginning to walk down the hall, the dark-haired woman only got a few steps before she noticed the woman with the stupid-looking bull mask staring at her and not in a good way.

Seeing that her attention was on her, the bull-masked woman sneered, "You think you're tough shit, don't you?"

Zatanna didn't even dignify that with a response. This bitch was just being a sore loser, nothing more.

"Well, you're too late," the woman continued, her tone beginning to gloat. "There were more of us, but they've gotten away by now. This was one, big distraction, you scantily-clad whore."

Oh, lovely. Just what she wanted to hear—not the part of criminals getting away, you know, because she was being sarcastic. "What did you take?" she ordered her to tell her.

She could practically feel the bitch's smirk. "As if I would tell you anything. The False Face Society is ten steps ahead of you."

"You know, I just treated you like a rag doll," Zatanna remarked. "I can make you tell me anything I want to know, even the first time you had a zit, lady. And knowing you, I'd say that was somewhere around...what, 15? 16? Or have you been convincing yourself those were blemishes?"

Though she couldn't see her face, the look in the masked woman's eyes told her just how insulted she was. It was a childish insult, to be sure, but people like this insert not very nice word to call a woman here just annoyed Zatanna and her more immature side came out because of it. Just as long as this prick didn't—

"Go fuck yourself, Cunt."

Zatanna stared coolly at the woman. There were a hundred different ways she could handle this situation. None of them would've been satisfying, but they would've been the grown-up thing to do. All of them failed to come out of her lips as she said instead:

"Egnahc ot twen."

* * *

Sarah Essen Gordon thrived under pressure. Stress was a long known friend that she drank coffee with. She could handle it pretty well if she didn't say so herself.

That was why she wasn't tearing her hair out as she made demand after demand into her radio, not getting any response back due to how much traffic was crowding channel. Everybody needed help here. Dispatch was doing the best it could under the circumstances. But it wasn't helping her help make this bad situation any less bad.

Giving up on trying to get through to anybody, she resolved to help at any situation she came across. So far, she had found herself stopping three muggings and a near rape, using live ammunition, and barely sparing a second to make sure the victims were able to get themselves to safety.

The muggings weren't really what you would call muggings. More like masked hooligans dragging people out of their homes to exact some kind of revenge or retribution on real or perceived slights. Two of them had been stopped as the homeowners were being dragged out. A few bullets in the perpetrators' bodies put an end to that. The third one had been in full motion, two masked men stomping and kicking on a third man in his bathrobe.

Again, more violence was the answer.

The rape she had almost missed. Almost, if the woman involved hadn't managed to get out a scream just as she finished with the third assault she came across that night. She had fired twice at the would be rapist, one in the torso, the other in the crotch. He could sue for his civil liberties later for all she cared.

Now she was back on the road, no longer bothering to speak into the radio. That thing was on without pause, voices pouring out of it with no end in sight. Any offer she could put out there would be drowned out. So she listened as best as she could, listening for any calls that were nearby.

One call managed to filter through, an officer calling for help while mentioning that Bullock had given up on shooting and was decking anyone he came across. Sounded like someone would need assistance here and it wasn't too far off. Only a couple blocks away.

It took twenty seconds max to reach the scene of what resembled a full scale riot. There were barely any cop cars that were there, or still on their four wheels. Yes, she could see that one had been flipped already and—

What the? She had to blink. No, her eyes weren't deceiving her. She saw someone in a skintight outfit that resembled one of the many masked vigilantes in the city fighting his heart out there. Those looked like batons in his hands, she wasn't too sure from this distance. If that wasn't an inspiration to get into the thick of that herself, she didn't know what was. She was only across the street from the action and that gave her an idea. Might cost her her badge but right now, she wasn't going to shy away from using her car to—

She braked as she was almost plowed into by a van covered in metal sheets. It wasn't driving fast but that grill guard could have done a lot of damage to her. There was something fishy about it though.

She had seen quite a few of them out in the streets, mostly driving at fast speeds or stopping to let out some of those ridiculously masked men out to cause more trouble. This one was taking its time. Very odd.

Looking ahead and getting a glimpse of Bullock literally knocking heads together, she bit her lip in uncertainty.

Damn it. She was going to have to trust in her fellow officers to handle the situation. Plus, she could see about three of those vigilantes out there and from the looks of them, they doing some damage. Whatever that van was up to, it was using this chaos to cover up what it was up to. A misdirection as it were.

Somebody needed to find out what it was and she was the only one in the position to do so.

* * *

Coming back-to-back with Batgirl, Nightwing eyed the crowd of masked citizens, his tiring body braced for his next action.

"Did you catch that?" Batgirl suddenly demanded.

"Catch what?" he spoke back, not taking his eyes off a guy holding a two-by-four with nails sticking out of it.

"A truck. Had metal covering it. Just passed by," Batgirl explained. "Another car started following it."

"You want to know what's up, right?" Nightwing concluded.

"Can you and Robin handle this?" Batgirl asked.

While things looked bad, Nightwing could see that some of the rioters were running from the situation, probably deciding that they didn't want any part in any asskicking they might get. Plus, a couple cop cars were showing up, the police finally starting starting to enforce some order here. He could see they were decked out for this situation, riot shields and all.

"I think we can handle it," he replied. "Do what you think you need to do."

* * *

The wind blasted Katana as she clung onto the side of the van, her hair whipping about her head and face, hands gripping tightly onto the black rack on top of the vehicle. Her body bounced off the side of the van with every turn, swerve, and weave it made, battering her as she gritted her teeth tightly to surprise the urge to cry out.

The situation needed to change.

Sure she had her grip secure, Katana began heave herself up before she raised her legs up and pressed her feet onto the side of the van. Without pausing, she pushed off and swung her legs out, flinging her body up until she was upside down and, more importantly, over the roof of the vehicle. As her lower body began its downward swing, Katana released her hold and landed on her feet on top of the roof.

An instant later she shot her hand out to grab onto the rack again, an attempt to stabilize herself. She barely managed to grasp the bar when the van began to swerve all over the street, from left to right to left again. If she didn't know any better, then the driver had heard her landing on the van and was trying to shake her off. Unfortunately, his tactic was working as her balance was completely thrown off, her feet sliding up, down, and side to side on top of the roof. Her other hand grasped wildly at the other roof rack, unable to grab it.

Brow wrinkling, Katana threw caution to the wind and reached for her sword, pulling it out of its sheath as the sound of metal scraping against leather filled her ears. Once free, the Asian woman flipped the sword in her hand so it pointed in the other direction before she raised it high into the air. With a jerk of her arm down, she stabbed the sword into the roof, immediately feeling herself stabilizing while muffled cries came through the roof. To further help herself, she spread her legs out onto her feet pressed against the roof rack.

While this wasn't the proper use for her sword, it would have to do. Even still, an unsettling feeling wormed its way into her abdomen, not because of her use but the feelings that had been invoked in her.

Her katana was no ordinary sword. It was a family heirloom that had been passed down her family for generations. It also carried the unfortunate curse of trapping the souls of all it slain inside its body of steel. There was no telling how many souls resided in the sword, but one of them belonged to her husband, the result of...unfortunate circumstances.

Though trapped, that did not mean she was forever separated from her loved one. By some twist of fate, he could still communicate with her, for which she was grateful.

However, since her first meeting with the fabled Batman, this sense of wrongness had bothered her. When she had been reunited with her husband, she had been struck with what would be best called as information overload. Intense heat, smoke, and the smell of blood had assaulted her the moment she made contact with her sword, which was then overpowered by a stench she could not name. A hallucination had flashed in front of her eyes, the image of a face breaking from the surface of a green pool, gasping for air. The meaning of this escaped her, but her discomfort was increased when her husband told her there was something...strange with the Bat.

Perhaps that is why she was the only one to accept his words at face value. _"I died."_

Katana shoved those thoughts aside. Now was not the time to indulge in such mysteries. Now that she was in control of herself, now was the time to stop the van. Adjusting her grip to make sure she had a good hold on it, Katana quickly drew her legs closed before pushing off the van's roof. As her body began to arch high into the air, the costumed woman twisted her body until she was looking towards the back of the vehicle rather than the front, just in time for her to swing her legs down. Keeping her legs as straight and together as she could, she swung down until her feet slammed into the glass of the windshield, shattering it as she entered the van's cab.

Surprise was an apt description of the two men she found, the driver and passenger. Both looked at her in astonishment as she came to a stop on the van's seat. Bending her arms, Katana jerked them out and away from her body, slamming her elbows into the sides of their faces and forced their heads to collide roughly with the windows next to them. Due to the driver holding onto the wheel, he jerked it to a side, forcing the van to make a sharp left. Jerking her head around, the woman's eyes widened as she saw the van barreling towards the side of a building.

Once more she pushed her feet down, this time against the car seat as she launched herself headfirst through the hole in the windshield. Shooting her hands over her head, she pressed them down on the hood of the van as she coiled her body towards her, pushing against the hood to send her flying feet first back onto the roof. The moment her feet touched down, Katana shot a hand out to grab her sword's hilt. The moment she had it, she jumped up, pulling the sword out as she did so, just in time for an over-hanging light pole to appear next and up above her. With her free hand, she reached out for the extending arm of the pole, snagging it much to her relief.

That was when she heard a loud _CRASH!_ behind her. Turning her head around, she saw the front of the van smashed completely against the wall of the building, smoke rising up into the air from the hood. Well, that was definitely one way to stop a speeding van.

* * *

Batman was halfway there. If he pushed it, he could get to City Hall in a little less than ten minutes. The streets of Gotham, though, would not allow for any more jet propulsion. Too many turns and the obstacles in his way were piling up. In fact, the computer was warning him that his front bumper was starting to wear out.

Hadn't had that happen before but never before had he needed to run through so many things before.

The streets were about to get narrower up here so it was time to slow down a bit more. While he was more than certain the Batmobile could handle several more cars in his path, crashing into a building was another story. Sure, the car was sturdy enough to break through a wall of ice, but wall of ices didn't come with brick and mortar debris.

An alarm in the car blared, a sign that something was coming at him. He barely had time to glance to his right side to spot the rocket that was just about to impact.

Now, the Batmobile was designed to take a beating. It could take on an rpg with no problem. With that being said, he hadn't anticipated a projectile detonating under the car which is where the small missile struck.

Combined with the high speeds he was going, three wheels were lifted off the road, the Batmobile still speeding ahead. However, he didn't have any steering control and thanks to the explosion, he was about to slam into a building.

Without thinking, he activated a new feature he had added in. An ejector seat.

The canopy above his head slid open and air was rushing about him as he was launched into the air seconds before the Batmobile made impact. The screeching crash of metal and brick was not a pleasant one, his car rolling over itself and skidding against building after building before coming to a crashing halt on top of several parked cars.

Meanwhile, he sent electric current into his cape to slow his descent back to the ground. Instead of landing on the asphalt, he made a perch on a window ledge, stopping the current and allowing his cape to go limp. Adrenaline was pumping through his system, his heart beating rapidly from the excitement. He complimented this turn of events with a scowl as he glared down at the remains of his car.

Hold on a moment. One of those "armored" trucks was pulling up. Screeching to a stop, a man in a squirrel mask stepped out and surveyed the wreckage. Narrowing his eyes, Batman ran electric current through his cape once more, gliding down to make a landing on the van as quietly as he could.

He had arrived just in time too. He caught the masked man congratulating himself. "Iced the fucking Bat! Nice! Wait til everyone hears about this! Fucking rocket launcher for the win."

Batman waited until the squirrel masked man began return to his vehicle before he acted. Reaching down, he snagged the masked man by the front of his shirt and pulled him up, dangling him in the air.

Through the eye holes in the mask, he could see the man's eyes widen in horror. The expression on the vigilante's face didn't help matters at all.

"You wrecked my car," he growled.

Squirrel Man's screams was just another one in a city of screams.

* * *

If he had had any doubts before, they were dashed the moment he spotted the masked man in the hallway. Keeping out of sight, Dent watched as the man wearing a monkey mask of sorts kicked opened a door and fired several rounds into the room.

They had finally gotten in, it seemed. It was hard to tell since there was a lot more action happening outside the building. How many had gotten in, he did not know.

All he did know was that he needed to be careful. Armed with only a baseball bat, he needed to play this smart or else his time as Gotham's district attorney was going to be incredibly short. From what he had heard, the shortest had only been a week. That would mean he would be the second shortest should things go south.

Dent continued to watch as the masked man continued down the hallway, crossing to the other side and kicking in another door, firing several rounds into it. The attorney bit his lip in concern, hoping that those rooms were empty or if there was anyone in there, they had taken cover and weren't coming out. The best case scenario, of course, was that the offices were empty.

"Come on out, you pigs. I just want to play," the masked man taunted as he kicked in another door. He was getting closer to Dent's location, the fact making him tighten his grip on the bat.

He was crossing the hallway again, his back in Dent's view. There was no more time to wait. If he did, then anything he could do could be narrowed down to one thing: become Swiss cheese.

Creeping out of his hiding place, he snuck up behind the masked man as he kicked open another door. "Anybody home!" he shouted as he fired more shots into the room.

Dent struck as the shots stopped. Raising his bat up, he swung it into the masked man's face just as he was turning away from the office he had desecrated. There was a loud crack as aluminum collided with bone, the man falling back and onto the floor.

Acting quickly, Dent stomped his foot down on the man's weapon, raised his bat up again and swung down. This second blow ensured that the man was going to be in lala land for a while.

"You're not welcomed," Dent quipped as he snatched up the gun, your generic automatic machine gun if his guess was correct.

Looks like his time on the college baseball team was paying off.

Checking around him to be sure that no one else was sneaking up on him, he got to work restraining the man. He paused only long enough to get a good look at the mask he wore. Looked like an orangutan now that he was getting a closer look.

People must be getting desperate for masks in this city.

* * *

By the time pig-mask man got his bazooka loaded, Huntress was on his ass with a vengeance. A swipe of her bo staff knocked the weapon from firing directly at her, though Pig man, as she was calling him in her head, hadn't let go of it yet. Time to change that.

"This little piggy went to the market," she snarled as she adjusted her hold on her staff and swung it down, finally knocking the rocket launcher out of Pig man's hands.

"That's not fair! I think you dented me—"

She didn't know what Pig man was going to say because she was cutting him off with her own retort. That retort was smashing the butt end of her staff into his jaw, shutting him up quickly.

"That little piggy went home." She pulled her staff back while shooting out a kick into his gut. She was almost repulsed by the way her foot sank into his gut, a good sign he needed to go on a diet plan. "And that little piggy had roast beef."

Amazingly, Pig man was still standing. Looks like this big boy could take a few hits. Good.

"But this little piggy had none," she continued as she planted an end of her bo staff onto the pavement and lifted herself up with it, giving her enough of a vantage to kick his face in and create quite a crack in that pig mask he wore.

Pig man stumbled back but showed no signs of going down. Time for the big guns now.

"And this little piggy went," she closed the distance between them, "wee wee _wee_ ," she kicked a foot up and into his manhood, holding absolutely nothing back, "all the way home," she finished, growling her last words into Pig man's ear as he finally, _finally_ fell. Raising her bo staff up, she gave a sharp rap with it into the side of Pig man's face and knocking him out of the game once and for all.

Damn that felt good.

An explosion interrupted her and the vigilante's eyes widen as she saw a very familiar car going out of control and out of sight. The sounds of a lot of crashing told her that the wreck that began in front of her was continuing on.

And being followed by Pig man's partner, a man in a squirrel mask driving off after the wreck in progress.

Now, if her eyes hadn't been deceiving her, that had been _Batman's_ car that had gone flying through the air. Not good, not good at all. Huntress took off after the truck, also wanting to check in on the city's more famous masked hero. He could not be hurt here, not like this, not like this…

Reaching the end of the street, she took a right and found the remains of the Batmobile. She also found Batman who didn't look any worse for wear. There was also a man in a squirrel mask who was about to get the ass kicking of his life.

In short, she didn't see anything, or hear the man's screams. If she didn't know better, she thought that Pig man was twitching. He was after all more important than a squirrel man.

* * *

"Come on, come on, hurry this up," a cat-masked man urged, glancing around at his surroundings while his men were loading tank after tank into the backs of several rental trucks. From what he had heard, everything had been going without a hitch. However, just because things were going your way didn't mean they would stay that way.

With this city's reputation for odd things like costumed vigilantes, ice men, and killer clowns, anything was possible that could show up to fuck things up. The sooner they wrapped up here, the sooner they could leave and get back to HQ.

This was all part of the bigger plan here, he needed to tell himself.

"This one's full!" one of his guys called out, hitting the side of the rental truck a few times for emphasis.

"Get it out of here," he ordered.

He didn't bother to watch as he took another look around. He was aware of the truck's engine starting and the sound of gravel crunching as the vehicle left, but he was more concerned with some dumbass happening to walk in on them.

Having to leave bodies was always messy.

Taking a count of how many trucks were left, and pleasantly pleased to find they were on the last one, he mentally urged his boys to hurry up. He was starting to feel that someone was watching them. Stalking them. Maybe he was paranoid but that didn't mean someone wasn't watching them.

"Hey, did someone start a fire? Where's this smoke coming from?" one of his guys asked.

Smoke? What was he…? Hey, why was there smoke on the ground? Where was it coming from? Had someone started a fire nearby?

He heard one of his guys scream suddenly, giving one of those bloodcurdling ones you heard in the movies. The cat-masked man raised his gun up, his paranoia increasing exponentially. Damn it, someone was here! Where the fuck were they?!

There were shots being fired, the loud sound causing him to jump and fire into the smoke. Wait, that smoke was covering the whole damn truck! And his boys! Holding his fire in case he accidentally hit one of his men, the tension was mounting as he heard more gunfire before it slowly died away and all became quiet.

He almost jumped again when something bumped against his foot. Aiming his gun down, he spied something round down there, almost obscured by the smoke that was coating the floor now. Bending down, he reached out and picked up the object only to drop it immediately when he realized it was a head.

One of his men's heads!

He looked up as something swiped at him, knocking his gun away from him and shoving him back. A bladed hand was shoved into his face but it wasn't the blade that had his attention. It was the flaming skull that was glaring at him from under a grey-colored hood.

"I have questions. You will answer," the Phantasm voiced darkly.

* * *

It hadn't been easy but somehow Batgirl had managed. The metal-covered truck had been taking its time; had it been like all the others out there, there was no way she would have been able to keep up.

Add to the fact that she had tired herself from all the fighting she had been involved with, her body was starting to reach its limit.

She had to push on. She couldn't give up, not with all this madness going on. Not when her idol was not supportive of her, not when the specter of ending her late nights doing good and helping others hung over her. Was she trying to prove herself? Perhaps. Because whatever she found herself in, it was deep. Real deep.

The truck had gone into a parking garage, picking up speed only to break through the wooden arm that usually blocked entrance to any law-abiding citizen. Sure, kept up with the image of tonight, but there was more to this, she was sure of it.

Following behind the truck had been that small car that had never been too far from it. Earlier, she had thought that maybe the two were connected somehow. However, as time went on, and Batgirl pushed her body closer and closer to quitting time, she had noticed that the car was acting as if it was tailing instead of being part of an entourage.

Watching as the car entered the parking structure, Batgirl kept an eye out for any sign of movement within. Taking out a small pair of binoculars, she searched her quarry, managing to pick up headlights of the truck. It was still moving, heading higher and higher.

She kept watch, waiting until the truck came to a stop. It was on one of the upper floors, meaning that if she got a running start, she could try and jump her way over to the garage. Noting that she was several stories high, she shuddered at the thought of not quite making it.

Put that out of your head. Focus on the matter at hand.

Backing away from the edge of the building she found herself on, the female vigilante tucked away her binoculars and took a deep breath. Bending her knees, she closed her eyes as she readied herself mentally for what she was about to do.

Snapping them open, she gave a burst of speed as she sprinted to the edge of the building. With the last step she took, she bent her knees as much as she could then pushed with all of her might. For the next few seconds, she was suspended in midair, almost floating as the air rushed past her. Gravity then took hold of her, bringing her down.

Her heart was hammering in her chest as she risked glancing down to see where she was. The top of the parking garage was racing up to meet her to both her relief and surprise. Relief that she wasn't going to be a stain on the street below. Surprise because the pavement was catching up to her faster than she anticipated.

Her legs buckled under her as she landed, her body going into a roll to lessen the strain placed on them. Coming to a stop, she quickly glanced around then began patting at her body, checking to make sure that she didn't cause any potential injuries to herself. Though her body was protesting, she didn't have anything that would hold her back.

Okay, let's do this.

Her legs were unsteady but she forced herself to press on, determined to see this thing through. Now, she knew that the truck about a floor or two below. Judging by the size of this structure, she couldn't waste time running around the place. Good thing she had an ace up her sleeve.

From the pocketed utility belt she wore, she pulled out a long, thin rope with a small grappling hook attached to it. Strolling to a nearby stairwell exit, she wrapped and hooked the end of the rope around the door handle. Giving a strong tug to test it, she nodded when it held then made her way to the edge of the garage.

Before anyone asks, yes, she had tested this before. She knew for a fact that the rope could hold her weight. Whether it would continue to hold her weight while she was dangling on the side of a building...it's not like she could anticipate everything.

She didn't jump, more like lowered herself off the edge of the parking garage roof. She continued the descent, slow and careful. If her heart had been pounding when she had leapt off the neighboring building, it had nothing on this. She wasn't scared of heights, just that she hadn't done anything like this before. It wouldn't be good if something were to go wrong, right?

Eventually, she managed to lower herself to the floor where the truck was, the vehicle in plain view thanks to the opening in garage's side. There were armed men, about five of them, wearing animal masks of all things standing about, keeping an eye out as something was being loaded in the back. Now that she was getting a good look, that truck was more like a van with metal sheeting on it. Gaudily made, she would add.

What were they doing…?

"Hey! Look what we found!" a voice called out. Instinctively, Batgirl shrank in on herself, but was somewhat grateful that no one was looking in her direction. Any gratitude she felt was soon removed when she saw a very familiar person get shoved out in front of the now identified van, followed by two more masked men.

Sarah!

It clicked into place. The car that had been following the altered van, that had been her stepmother! And she had followed them here. And had been caught.

"What did I tell you? I knew we were being followed," a man in a dolphin mask crowed.

"Shut up," a man in a dog mask retorted. Then towards Sarah, "You made a big mistake, lady. You shouldn't be here."

"I am an officer with the Gotham Police Department. I am placing you all under arrest," Sarah stated defiantly from her place on the concrete floor.

The man in the dolphin mask barked a laugh. "You hear—"

"I'm not going to tell you again, shut up," dog mask man interrupted. "Talk again, and you'll be joining the lady cop."

It was obvious by his tone and the way the other masked men let him speak, dog mask man was the guy in charge here. Crouching down, he faced the detective down, which looked a bit ridiculous from the bat-themed vigilante's position.

Batgirl entered the parking garage from the opening she had been spying from, removing the rope from her person and using the few parked cars as cover. There weren't many cars around so sneaking in close wasn't an option available for her since the van was parked a ways away. The only thing working in her favor was the fact that Sarah was getting the attention of the animal masked men.

That, and the...

Maybe she could use that.

"What do you hope to accomplish? You heard Black Mask," dog mask man stated more than asked. "Gotham belongs to the False Face Society now. Tonight's just a demonstration, a show of what we can do."

"Gotham doesn't belong to you," Sarah refuted. Even when surrounded by armed men, that woman was defiant to the end, Batgirl had to give her that.

"Trust me. You can't stop us. Those Batman wannabes can't stop us. And the Batman himself can't stop us," dog mask man retorted. "I almost feel bad about having to do this. You got a lot of spirit, but you might have seen something you shouldn't have. Them's the brakes."

Batgirl knew where this was heading and didn't need to be told that time was up. Okay, whatever half-cooked plan she had, she needed to use it, _now_.

Pulling out some Bat-shaped throwing stars that Nightwing had painstakingly made just for her as a gag gift, she aimed for the light fixtures above the armed men and let them lose. As mentioned, they were made as a gag gift so she hoped that these things weren't all looks and no substance.

Her hopes and Nightwing's manufacturing skills came through. One of the throwing stars shattered the elongated light bulbs above the group, darkening the area around them. The garage darkened further as two more fixtures were taken out.

"What the!?" dog mask man exclaimed.

Batgirl darted into action, removing an item that she had managed to, ahem, borrow from the equipment room back at police headquarters. It was a retractable truncheon, and with a flick of her wrist, she whipped it to its full length. Engaging the man closest to her position, she struck with the truncheon as hard as she on the back on his neck.

With her other hand, she clamped down on his mouth and pulled his head back, striking his throat with the butt end of the truncheon. As he choked, bending forward, she brought an arm up then dropped her elbow into the base of his skull, delivering the final blow to take him out.

"What was that?" one of the men demanded, picking up on the signs of the struggle. Her element of surprise was truly blown at this point so she needed to be quick. She launched herself at the next man, throwing a punch at his face as he turned to face her. Using the base of the truncheon to reinforce her fist, she nailed him in the nose and was rewarded with some choice swear words.

His cursing was bringing attention directly on her but she was already moving. Grabbing the front of his jacket, she pulled him down while pulling herself up and over him, using some of her hard-learned gymnastics moves to get behind and use him as a shield.

The man she was behind was a smart one it seemed as he immediately realized his predicament. "Wait!" he cried out as several shots were fired at him.

It was a second too late for him, though as luck had it, his arms were stuck instead of his torso, his partners stopping themselves short before filling him with holes.

Meanwhile, the wheels of the metal-plated van squealed to life, the vehicle taking off from the scene. Someone was trying to get as far away as they could.

No one was distracted by it, and as the man she had used as a shield was going down, Batgirl was pulling out one last bat-shaped shooting star. Damn, she had used most of them taking out the lights. Well, she needed to use this one well—

Movement caused a kneejerk reaction from her, the shooting star thrown without though at a masked man aiming his machine gun at her. The shooting star struck the back of his hand, a lucky hit, and giving Batgirl her next target. She ran at him, truncheon still in hand, as bullets were fired at her location. She could feel her cape whipping about behind her as the bullets tore through the flimsy fabric.

Gritting her teeth, she gave a leap, planting a foot on the injured man's chest and using him as a springboard to launch herself up towards the ceiling. She grabbed onto the piping that ran along the overhead surface and used it as a fulcrum, throwing herself feet first at her next target. With the bottom of her feet, she struck him in the face, forcing his head back in the wall behind him, taking him out immediately.

She pushed off him, arching her back and shooting her arms out. Her hands impacted the floor, the truncheon handle pushing into her palm. Pushing herself, she continued with her momentum and completed the handstand, using her feet once again as a battering ram and nailing masked gunman number five in the chest.

Losing his balance, he fell to the floor, Batgirl going with him. She retained her balance, kneeling on the man's chest. Twisting her waist, she swung the truncheon she had managed to hold onto and struck him in the face, the back of his head bouncing against the floor. Hearing movement, she reached to her belt and pulled her last weapon, a stun gun.

Taking only a second to aim, she fired the four stun probes into man, the same one that she had hit earlier with her last shooting star. There was a high pitched clicking sound, the man jerking about as electricity filled his muscles with lactic acid and incapacitated him.

Oh, she was good. So very—

"Nowhere to go, missy."

On no. She had missed one. Dolphin mask. He had the barrel of his gun aimed at the back of her head, point blank, and was only a second away from pulling the trigger. Her brain stopped, unable to come up with something to turn this around.

Gunshots blasted in the parking garage.

A body fell to the floor.

Batgirl blinked as she did not feel an ounce of pain. Wait, what happened?

Dolphin mask was on the floor, not moving. She wasn't sure if he was dead, yet she didn't find herself able to care. Sensing a pair of eyes on her, she looked up and found Sarah with a pistol in hand, aimed in her general direction.

Batgirl swallowed.

"Let me guess, you work with him," Sarah stated.

It took her a second to get the reference, but she figured out who Sarah was referring to. "You can say that," she said cautiously.

Sarah stared her down for what seemed like forever before lowering her gun and looking away. "I didn't see you here."

Relief filled her body. Without another word, she dashed off, not wanting to test Sarah's patience.

* * *

Batman was almost to City Hall, traversing rooftop after rooftop. He could hear the gunfire from where he was at, which only pushed him to hurry, arms pumping at his side as his legs pounded the gravel on the roof. Reaching the roof's edge, he aimed his grapple at the top of the next, much taller building and fired. The grapple claw flew through the air as he ran off of the roof he was on, feeling the cable go taut an instant later. Hitting the retraction button, he zoomed up through the air, reaching the ledge seconds later and taking off running the moment his boots touched down.

As he raced over this new building, he could spot the opulent City Hall. Flashing red-and-blue lights told him there was a police presence there. Brief flashes coupled with the roar of gunshots indicated gunfire. There was a full blown firefight on the steps of the government building and none of it was going to end well.

Reaching the end of the building, Batman leapt off of it and began falling, angling his body so that he was speeding head first towards the ground. HIs slow breathing and calm heart rate were at odds with this insane stunt, but then that was something he was used to. Reaching his desired speed, he activated the electric current in his gauntlet and grabbed onto his cape, feeling it stiffen into its glider shape. Immediately his downward descent came to an abrupt stop as he shot forward through the air.

Gliding, the vigilante angled his flight downward, aiming for the larger mass of masked gunmen. There were many that had taken cover behind makeshift barriers, such as trashcans and stone benches, yet there were plenty that stood blatantly on the steps and on top of the stairs, firing repeatedly at the police barricade at the bottom of the steps and in the street. There was damage all over the City Hall building itself, mostly from the fighting, though the doors were open.

Speed was on his side as he soared towards the miscreants at the top of the stairs. They had yet to see him, but any second they would and at that moment he would act.

And just as he expected, two of the men tilted their heads up and spotted him, flinching back as one of them pointed right at him. At that instant, Batman jerked his right arm forward, aiming at the man nearest him with his grapple. Squeezing the trigger, the claw fired from the barrel and hit the man right on the arm, causing him to jerk back from the impact as the claw clamped down on his bicep.

Flying over his head, the dark-clad man then released his cape, feeling it slacken against his back as he flung his arms in front of his face, crossing them as the grapple cable moved beneath him. With his gathered momentum, he rammed right into the second thug right on his chest. The man cried out as he was thrown off his feet and went crashing to the ground hard, the back of his head bouncing off the stone and knocking him unconscious.

Swinging the back of his legs up, Batman went into a roll, going head over feet as he felt the ground move from his shoulders and down his back. Before he knew it, he was on his feet, which he then spun around and extended his arm with the grapple out. Pulling backward, he then used his other arm to swing high into the air and then down, hitting the taut cable and forcing it down. This caused the first thug to begin stumbling towards him, his balance completely thrown off. Letting go of the grapple, Batman balled his fist before lashing out with it, slamming it into the stumbling goon's face and stopping his upper body, his legs still moving forward. This had the awkward effect of causing the thug to go flipping pass the vigilante until he crashed hard onto the ground, not moving an inch once landed.

Ignoring him, Batman set his sights to another thug with a shotgun, who stood off to his right and was moving to aim his weapon at the vigilante. Spinning to his right, the dark-clad man flung his cape up, distracting the man as he flinched away. All the while, Batman stepped towards the goon as he turned, closing the distance between them until he was about to face his new opponent. Swinging out his left arm, he grabbed the barrel of the shotgun and forced it to a side, using his right fist to slam into the thug's check. The blow snapped the man's head to a side, spit flying from his mouth. With the same hand, Batman swung it back across his body, backhanding the man on his face and forcing his head to the other side; meanwhile, the vigilante wrenched the shotgun out of the goon's grasp by keeping his arm held out as far as he could while his foe unwillingly moved the other way. The moment Batman felt he had complete possession of the shotgun, he used his momentum and twisted to his right, swinging the weapon low.

The base of the shotgun smashed into the thug's knee, causing it to buckle as he cried out and fell onto his back. Stepping forward, Batman maneuvered the gun up high, grasping it with both hands as he swung the butt of the gun down, slamming it onto the thug's forward and knocking him out.

That took out the top tier men, which meant the rest were between the dark-clad man and the police. Flipping the shotgun in his hands so that the barrel was pointed to the ground, the vigilante jerked to his side and sent the weapon flying through the air, spinning end over end until it crashed into the back of a thug's head, knocking him out with a pained shout.

This caused three of the men standing on the stairs to jerk around, freezing as they gaped at the vigilante. Because of the throw, Batman found his upper body turned to his left, even as the toe of his boots pointed straight at the thugs. Shooting both hands down to the left side of his belt, he hastily pulled out three bat-shaped shuriken. Twisting his body to the right, he swung out his hands and threw the projectiles.

The shuriken arced through the air, spinning end over end until they made contact with their targets. The men on the left and right took the projectiles right in the forehead, knocking them both out as they fell down on the stairs, rolling down them until they reached the bottom. As for the man in the middle, he had managed to raise his gun just in time for the shuriken to collide with it and force the top of the handgun to slam onto his face, dazing him as he began to tilt backwards.

Leaping forward, Batman shot out his hands and pressed them against the thug's shoulders, pushing him over as he cried out. The two landed at the bottom of the stairs, the goon knocked out as the back of his head hit the sidewalk. Once more, Batman went into a roll, feeling the ground move down his shoulders and back until he flipped up onto his feet, his cape falling over his body and enveloping it.

Eerily, everything was silent. The gunfire had ended, when he didn't know, but the vigilante could see the police force before him were staring at him, most in astonishment. However, Batman found himself looking right towards an older man in a trench coat.

Jim Gordon.

The commissioner looked pale, as if he had seen a ghost. Perhaps he had. Regardless, these masked men were sufficiently reduced for the GCPD to apprehend. Considering the doors of City Hall were wide open, some had gotten in, which made those men and their potential hostages priority.

Pulling out a smoke pellet, he tossed aside his cape and threw the pellet down at his feet, a cloud of white smoke erupting around him until he disappeared from sight.

* * *

Dent was beginning to regret not going into the military after high school. But you know, he wanted to go college, get into law school, all that fun stuff. College and law school didn't teach you about how to handle armed men trying to kill you with some military grade equipment like the machine gun he had taken off from the orangutan-masked man.

Nonetheless, this was the situation he found himself in and he was not going to go down without a fight.

He made his way to the lobby where he could still hear the sounds of gunfire. He gripped the gun handle, finger on the trigger, as he edged his way closer to the action. He was taking a risk here; he wasn't familiar with this time of firearm, his expertise with a more smaller type. Hell, there was a good chance he was going to get himself killed here.

While he was in the middle of psyching himself up for whatever stupid stunt he was about to pull, he stopped as he heard screaming voices entwined with all the shooting. Strange.

Peeking out from the hallway he was in, he saw one of the masked attackers go flying halfway across the room, screaming all the way until his face made friends with a pillar. The district attorney blinked at the sight, wondering what was going on. Since the second story balcony was blocking his view, he carefully made his way out of the hallway and towards the railing, peering over the side.

His eyes widened at the sight. Two masked men were laying sprawled out on the tiled floor, neither moving, one was dangling in the air, held by what looked like a cable of sorts, and one just had his jaw dislocated from the force of a punch striking him in said jaw followed by a deck to the rest of his face.

There were five left, three of them nursing their hands and weaponless, while two others were hesitating with theirs, not firing on the black-clad figure that was kicking their asses. Recognizing what looked like two small horns on the top of his head, Dent knew that he was in the presence of the Batman.

Let him say that the Batman took care of business. He was all motion, not even stopping for a second. As the man with the dislocated jaw sank to the floor, the dark hero was leaping at one of the armed men. Grasping the barrel of the gun, he jerked it up and rammed it into the man's face. With the butt end of the weapon, he slammed it into the side of a second face then threw it as a projectile into the last remaining armed man.

The flurry of motion did not stop there. Batman was tackling his next target onto the floor, giving two rather harsh raps of his fist into the man's masked face while straddling him. Rolling over him, he pushed up with his legs and gave a mighty uppercut to one of the three remaining men. Another punch was delivered to the gut was followed by a hand grasping the back of the man's head and ramming it onto a knee.

Shoving the unconscious man aside, Batman tripped the second to last off his feet, grabbing him before he could fall to the floor and spun, throwing him across the lobby where the man landed on and bounced off the front desk.

Then there was one. Falling to his knees, the schmuck held his hands up and begged, "I give up! Please don't hurt me!"

It was almost contemptuous, the Batman's response. A sharp elbow to the head was the vigilante's answer, taking down the last of them.

Dent was impressed.

Tossing aside the gun he had filched, he began to clap, capturing the hero's attention in turn. "You're a hard guy to get a hold of," he told the bat-themed hero. "Remind me if I want to get your attention again, I need to get myself into a hostage situation."

Silence was his answer, not that Dent was expecting anything more. Still, this was the moment that he had been striving for for some time. To finally meet with the Batman, the one person that was able to set into motion the events that brought organized crime to its knees once upon a time. Seeing him in action had only been a bonus.

"Harvey Dent, district attorney," he introduced himself. "You and I, we have a lot to discuss."

* * *

Ending the call, Black Mask placed the iPhone on the table, very pleased with himself. That had been the last of it. Tonight was definitely a success.

He felt like a cigar. This win called for a cigar. There was still one bit of business that needed to be handled first and he turned his attention to Elephant Man.

"We got all the stuff. No more late deliveries, no more weather problems, no more excuses. Finish up on your end. I don't care if you have to work day and night. I want that poison finished in two days."

Elephant Man nodded his head. "Bring everything to the back and I'll handle it from there."

"That's what I like to hear," Black Mask replied. "Remember this, though. Stall on me, and I don't care how much you make. I will skin you alive and give people around here a good reason to be afraid. Got it?"

"Your intimidation tactics do not work against me, but I understand the urgency," Elephant Man agreed. "I will begin work tonight and have you picking up shipments throughout the day tomorrow."

"Make sure you don't forget who's really in charge here. Now get going before someone misses you," he dismissed.

Operation Dread would soon begin.

* * *

Author's Note: I'm somewhat proud of this chapter. It's not only the longest ever written for this series, going all the way back to _The Ninth Circle_ , but the juxtaposition. Was trying to go for the feel of a movie, jumping from scene to scene, cutting off at important points where things could have gone horribly wrong or incredibly right. Of course, kinda gave up towards the end. Initially, I tried to write this chapter out all by myself, but as things progressed, some writer's block set in, I had to outsource to ShadowMajin. I would say anywhere from 80 to 90 percent of this chapter is me, but I doubt anyone would be able to tell the difference, hopefully, from my writing and ShadowMajin's. With that said, there was some disagreement between him and I; he wanted to split this chapter up into two or more and I wanted it as one solid chapter. I won out. It's staying as one chapter, as you can plainly see. This should be the end of Act 2, and we're getting into Act 3 of this story next chapter.


	21. Follow Up Investigations

Follow-Up Investigations

Calling last night a disaster was putting it mildly. Halloween 2.0 as the press was calling it was a nightmare in more ways than one. Yes, there was the property damage, but there was also the human costs. Hospitals were still jampacked from what he had heard, so much so they were having to outsource to others as far as fifty miles outside of Gotham.

It was times like these Gordon hated his job. The demands to know that everything that could be done to apprehend the people responsible, this False Face Society, was being done were neverending. The press conference he had ended a while ago still hadn't satisfied some people.

The commissioner didn't blame them. He couldn't. Some shadowy organization comes out of nowhere and terrorizes the city as it did, it's enough to bring back memories of the last times the city had been attacked. From Victor Fries to the Joker, those were things the public wanted to put out of their minds and forget about.

All of that wasn't on the forefront of his mind. No, there was something else that concerned him and the ramifications of it…

Out there in front of City Hall. While he and his men were being held back by those False Facers, as the media was starting to call them, they had received help from an unexpected source.

 _A fist struck the masked man's face, momentum forcing the man's body to continue forward until his center of gravity became too unstable and forced the rest of him to fall limply to the ground._

His jaw clenched and his eyes narrowed at the memory. That man had dressed like _him_ , identical in every way. And his movements.

 _He grabbed the barrel of the shotgun and forced it to a side, slamming a fist into the side of the masked goon's face._

His movements, the way he fought...he knew what he was doing. He was on a level that those False Facers could only dream of. It was so quick and brutal that it was over in minutes.

 _Bat-shaped projectiles struck two of the men in their heads, taking them out as they fell back and down the steps behind them. The third had managed to block the projectile aimed at him though he suffered when his handgun impacted his face. The caped figure leapt at the criminal knocking him back and off the steps, down towards the pavement below._

If he had had any doubts before, they had been nearly wiped away. No copycats were capable of that level of skill or prowess. Yet it defied the one fact that he had known for the past few years, that _he_ was dead. Had someone competent enough picked up where he had left off?

 _As soon as the last man had been taken out, the masked interloper had raised his head up and made direct eye contact with the commissioner. Eye contact was established for several seconds until the vigilante raised a hand up threw something at the crowd. A cloud of smoke enveloped him, allowing him to escape._

The disappearing act was a clencher. It may have been out in the open and their vision blocked, but what really cinched it was a statement from the least likely person: Harvey Dent. The district attorney had witnessed that their unexpected savior had dealt with the gunman that had managed to get into City Hall. This next piece of information occurred after Dent had pulled him to a side and admitted that he had tried to speak with him. The potential imitation of Batman had responded to the civil servant with silence and when he had looked away, vanished.

That disappearing act, Gordon knew it well. Hearing that persuaded him into believing that this was the real deal, not some copycat or imitation.

What that meant to him on a personal level…

This all led him up to now. He had called in Montoya on an update to her investigation. With Dent's testimony, he knew this was information that the detective needed. With her in his office, sitting across from him with his desk between them, they traded greetings before getting down to business.

"I am assuming you were busy like the rest of us last night so I won't ask about it. What I want is an update. What have you found out?" he asked the young woman.

"Are you sure this is an appropriate time, commissioner?" Montoya asked him in answer. "I would think that you'd be more concerned about the False Face Society than whether or not someone is killing people under the name of Batman."

"Believe me, I am, and this is part of all that," Gordon told her. "An incident happened last night, something I believe might help you with your investigation."

"What is it?" He had her attention now.

"A vigilante appeared at City Hall last night, resolved the situation there almost single handedly," he explained. "You probably should interview Harvey Dent about it, but from what I learned, I believe that the Batman has returned to Gotham. The real one." She was opening her mouth to ask him a question, one that he already knew and cut her off to answer it. "No, from what I remember he wasn't a killer. This means that he isn't responsible for those mobster murders."

"You know this for sure?" Montoya asked.

"More than you know. So, since it's been established between the two of us that the real Batman is operating in Gotham once more, what evidence have you found that points towards him or exonerates him of these crimes?"

"Motive. He doesn't have any. As you said, you know him, he doesn't kill," Montoya answered. "I did find something, maybe it's nothing but there's potential in it."

"What is it?" Gordon questioned.

"There was a link between the four mobsters," Montoya said. "They all were shareholders in front corporations. Here's the thing, whenever all four names appeared, there was a fifth one. This name also showed up when it was just three of them sometimes. Carl Beaumont."

"Who is Carl Beaumont?" He raised an eyebrow at the unfamiliar name.

"From all appearances, a legitimate businessman. One that hasn't been in the country for several years. I'm having trouble trying to locate him. I did find out his daughter is in town. I wanted to interview her to see if she knew anything. It's not much but…"

"You have to check all leads, no matter what they are or how unlikely they'll lead to a resolution," he summed up. "Check it out, detective. If I or anyone else finds out something, you will be notified."

"Thank you, Commissioner." Montoya nodded her thanks and took her leave, not needing him to dismiss her.

No sooner had she left that he had a newcomer enter his office. One that was entirely welcomed despite the circumstances.

"Sarah," he said in greeting, his lips curving into a small smile.

"What was that about?" the lieutenant asked.

"Helping out an open case," he replied. "Is there something I can help you with?"

"More like what can I help you with?" Sarah said. "If you need someone to take your place for future press conferences, I'll be willing to do it."

"Getting ready to take my job?" he quipped.

"Not necessarily."

"Well, you can have it. I'm getting too old for all this." He paused, something about her eyes catching his attention. It was a far-off look she was sporting, almost as if she wasn't here right now. "Sarah? Is something wrong?"

"Oh. No, nothing," she shook her head. "I guess I'm still coming to terms with last night. I thought it was bad when it was the Joker behind it. Who is this Black Mask and what does he want?"

That was the question, wasn't it?

* * *

Last night had been busy. Property damage, robbery, assaults, you name it, it happened all courtesy of the so-called False Face Society. Early estimates of the night's damages were to be in the tens of millions, hopefully not over a hundred, but that's where inflation would come to play. Regardless, there was a lot of damage control to do and shifting about the rubble to figure out why each and every place had been targeted.

That's what the super computer was doing at the moment, processing each and every bit of information gathered and analyzing it to form a pattern. One thing that Batman crossed off as a major reason for the attacks was the multiple bank robberies. Some of them had been perpetrated by people inspired by Black Mask, so those were just random hits; as for the actual men of the False Face Society, there wasn't much incentive outside of money to explain their actions. Considering the breadth of the attacks, Batman highly doubted all of this was just so this new criminal group could get cash quick.

Much like his musings in the Batmobile, before it was struck with a RPG, everything felt like a giant diversion, masking the true intent of Black Mask's agenda. An alert from the computer interrupted the dark-clad man's thoughts as he focused on the new window on the screen. There was a list of other businesses that had been robbed displayed in the window, to which Batman glanced over.

From what he read, it was safe to say a weapon wasn't being made. There was a distinct lack of technology corporations on the list, what with most of their inventories going untouched. As he delved deeper into the results, he found no signs of stolen technology or explosives. That was another motive crossed off.

However, that was when something caught his eye. A chemical plant was on the list, and considering Crane's recent involvement with this group, that was a red flag to him. Pulling up the inventory list for the plant, along with the list of stolen property, he immediately spotted familiar-looking ingredients, something that made his eyes narrow.

"Computer: find other robberies at chemical plants," Batman ordered, sitting back as the computer began to process his command. Then, as an added thought, "Computer: include pharmaceutical companies into search." Seconds later, his desired results appeared, to which he eagerly began to read. With each passing second, he added another piece to the puzzle that was Black Mask's motive.

Every chemical that was stolen from these plants and companies were all part of Crane's fear toxin. It seemed Crane was right that the False Face Society was in need of more supplies. Unfortunately, the logical extension of these findings was that these people were making more fear toxin—and quite a large supply too if the amount of chemicals stolen were any indication.

"So, found anything yet?" Zatanna asked from somewhere behind him. The magician had been taking a break, "visiting the little girls' room" as she had put it.

Zana had really earned her keep last night, all things considered. Stopping a robbery at one of his subsidiaries was no mean feat; having most of the suspects quivering in her presence was an added bonus too. Apparently Zatanna had turned one of the men, no, a woman, into a newt for some reason—she had been vague as to why. Further questioning had led him to believe that she turned her back to normal after awhile.

Or so she said: "She got better."

"It seems last night was just one big distraction," Batman informed her. "While we were busy stopping all of the robberies and violence, the False Face Society robbed multiple chemical plants and pharmaceutical companies, taking large quantities of ingredients used for Crane's fear toxin."

"That's not good," the magician remarked before she frowned. "You know, I'm getting the strangest sense of deja vu. Didn't the Joker do something similar?"

The vigilante nodded. "That's right. Fortunately none of these False Facers are as erratic as the Joker, so it was easier to figure out what they wanted."

"Unfortunately, that means someone's taking a page right out of the Joker's playbook," Zatanna countered. "Know anyone that would want to emulate him?"

"Jokerz for one," he replied. "But they're mostly miscreants and degenerates. None of them have the mental capacity to plot something this big. Follow through with it as a plan, sure, but not taking the time to coordinate each and every attack."

"So you're saying this Black Mask guy has some sort of sanity—as much as someone who would do something like this can have."

"So it would seem."

There was a brief moment of silence as the two of them contemplated their verbal exchange. That was until Batman continued, "What's important is what Black Mask intends to do with the fear toxin."

"Well, if you're going to make something, you're going to use it," Zatanna replied. "I think we need to figure out how he plans on using it instead of why."

That was a legitimate point—it also gave him an idea. "Computer: check to see if any equipment or technology used to administer gaseous or aerosol substances were stolen." Waiting, he stared at the screen, awaiting for a window to appear with the results.

When it did, he was half-relieved, half-troubled. There wasn't any conclusive result that such equipment had been stolen last night. Either the False Face Society had yet to obtain such equipment, or they already had it. While he preferred the first option, which would allow him to predict their next move, it was always best to expect the second.

However, that line of thinking would be pushed aside as a new window popped up. The moment he read it, Batman felt his jaw tighten as his hands clenched tightly. People had died last night. Damn it.

Accessing the window, crime scene photos of each death appeared. Though he had seen plenty of death in his time, Batman was surprised to find a startling lack of bodies. In fact, the only commonality with each photo was the presence of a head, a pool of blood beneath it, and not much else. The killer had taken the bodies with them, leaving only the head with an animal mask placed over their...face…

"Bruce, tell me if I'm wrong, but those look like the masks those False Facers were wearing," Zatanna spoke up. Just staring at the masks of a snake, a goat, a cat, and a bear made Batman think to the people he had encountered at City Hall.

"I believe you're right," the vigilante agreed. Since these scenes were under police investigation since the earlier morning hours, it stood to reason the coroner was in possession of the heads. Quickly, he accessed the GCPD network and searched for any coroner reports.

Thankfully one was available, though it was a preliminary draft. Reading it, Batman was quick to notice the description of the wound that separated head from shoulders. It was a near identical match to the wound found on Boxy Bennett. So, the mysterious phantom had been out there as well.

Though it was curious why this murdering vigilante had suddenly targeted False Facers, it made Batman wonder if there was a link, as Crane had implied, between the Valestra Crime Family and the False Face Society. That was something worth investigating.

"I believe I need to have a talk with Andrea," he announced then, which caused Zatanna's face to drop in response. "She may have some idea of who the False Face Society is."

"Oh, is that all?" the dark-haired woman asked darkly.

Batman turned his head to stare at her. "Her father is my top suspect for this murderer. She's the only one with some inkling of the people he was involved with. If Carl Beaumont is indeed involved with the False Face Society, then she may know a name or two that will be helpful."

"If you say so," she responded, not the least bit convinced.

It was going to be a long drive to Gotham if Zatanna was going to be this moody. So, the dark-clad man decided it was best to give her something to preoccupy her. "I need you to find out the identities of the False Facers we apprehended last night. Check to see if they had any contact with Sal Valestra and his cohorts. I'll also need you to find out where the False Face Society is sending the chemicals they stole."

"And what do you intend on doing?"

"Some...field work."

* * *

It wasn't normal to have someone male in the Birdcage, the Bat's visit notwithstanding. In fact, there hadn't been an invited guest ever.

Yet, a rather robust man wearing a pig mask was slumped against a wall, his legs spread out widely. His arms hung above his head, chains hanging from the wall wrapping around his wrists. He'd been unconscious since they had brought him here...after he had blown up Huntress' bike.

Yeah, she was still pissed about that.

They had been waiting for the guy to wake up. That's what they agreed upon. But as the hours ticked by, Huntress was getting impatient. Finally, when she couldn't wait anymore, she stomped up to him and kicked him across the face, snapping his head to a side as he woke up.

"Ahh, ahh, ahh!" the man suddenly cried out, his arms vainly trying to go to his face, but having no luck. "Mother, I promise, I didn't use your magic wand again! Promise!"

Oh, that was such a nasty image.

"H!" Black Canary shouted. "The hell are you doing?!"

"Waking him up," the purple-clad woman growled, which immediately got Pig-guy's attention.

"Hey, you're the bitch in the street," he jeered. "Did you fall in love with me? Is that why you brought me to your love pad? With _friends?_ "

The three women stared at the fat tub-o-lard dispassionately. Then, "H," Black Canary said, "you can kick him again."

Ha! Glad to see BC was seeing things her way.

Deciding to go with a front snap kick, Huntress raised her leg up, bent at the knee before she lashed out with her foot, slamming it against the pig-masked man's forehead. The back of his skull rammed into the wall with a dull thud, though that unfortunately didn't stop his motor mouth. "Ooooh, you gals like it rough. So do I! Please, give me another!"

Oh great, of all the guys they had to take for interrogation, they had to pick the masochist. Jesus H. Christ, this was going to Hell fast.

Deciding to quit beating around the bush, Huntress reached a hand up to her belt and pulled out her crossbow. Letting the light of the room gleam off the aluminum sides of the arrow head, she then kneeled down in front of Pig-guy and pointed the crossbow right at groin, making sure the arrow point scraped against his pants. Immediately the pig flinched, doing his best to hold still.

In a deceptively calm voice, the purple-clad vigilante said, "Say anything disgusting like that again, and I'm going to make sure you bleed to death once my arrow rips off your nuts. Got it?"

Pig-guy slowly nodded his understanding. "Okie-dokey," he answered weakly.

The corner of her mouth twitching up in a smirk, Huntress then said, "Now, you're going to answer every single question I've got. You're going to answer them truthfully and without hesitation—that is if you want to go through life with both your balls attached. Lie to me once, I put an arrow through your manparts. Lie to me again, and my friend Katana over there is going to start carving bacon out of your fat."

About then, the sound of Katana sharpening her sword could be heard. The Asian woman had been at it for awhile, so the sharp _shing!_ of her sharpening stone sliding up and down the edge of her blade made for an ominous atmosphere.

"Now, now, no need to make threats," the pig whined. "I'll be a good little piggie, yes I will."

"Good. Now, first question: tell me everything you know about Black Mask."

"Black Mask?" the man repeated. "The boss man? The man with the plan who tells all the good little piglets to go out and play?"

Huntress felt her one of her eyelids twitch. "Yeah, the guy on the jumbotron who trashed the city."

"What can I say that I already haven't told you? He's got a plan to rule Gotham, make it his personal playground so that we—that's the False Face Society, so you know—can do whatever we want. It's really rather brilliant, ya know."

"Really," the dark-haired woman deadpanned. "Tell me more, like what the plan is."

The Pig-guy tilted his head to a side. "You know, that's, like, the second question you've asked that really isn't a question. I mean, I'm not even getting the feeling you're using question marks. It's like you're just saying things and expecting me to know that you're asking. Now that I think about it, I could say that about all women."

Huntress stared at him coolly before looking over her shoulder to Black Canary. "What ball should I shoot off first? The right or the left?"

"Well, I am rather partial to my right one," the pig offered helpfully.

The blonde woman merely pressed her hand against her face in aggravation. "This is going nowhere," she complained.

Huntress just stared at the other woman before she shrugged her shoulders. "Alright, I'm shooting them both off."

"Wait!" Pig-guy cried out. "Wait, wait, wait! You haven't even asked me about the fear gas!"

That caused every woman's head to perk up. "Fear gas," Huntress repeated slowly. "Let me guess, it makes you hallucinate your fears, right?"

"Exactamundo! You got it on one try! Ya know, if I didn't know any better, I'd say you know just how wonderful that stuff is. I mean really, what a trip!"

"Tell me more about the gas," the purple-clad vigilante pressed. "What does Black Mask have to do with this?"

"Hey, you finally asked me a question! Bravo!" the fat man praised her. "And to answer: why else would he have fear gas? I mean really, it's to make all the boring sacks of meat you call people afraid. It's called fear gas for cryin' out loud!"

"How is the gas part of his plan?" Black Canary spoke up then.

"I feel like I'm repeating myself," Pig-guy grumbled out loud to himself. "You'd think saying that he's going to use it on people would be an acceptable answer, but apparently not. What is the American education system coming to these days?"

"What I mean," the blonde growled through gritted teeth, "is how he's going to administer the gas."

"Now that's a better question. Black Mask has all these canisters of the stuff and he's putting them in missiles so that the helicopters can fire them."

Helicopters? Black Mask had helicopters? Since when? Huntress had to shake her head to rid her head of those questions. They weren't all that important, especially since it would take them nowhere. Instead she asked, "Where are the helicopters now?"

"Now that...I don't know. You can shoot my balls off right now cause I've got no clue."

That made the dark-haired woman blink owlishly. That was...unexpected. Looking to BC, she saw the same look on her face, so she would be no help. Turning to Katana, she then said in a questioning tone, "Katana? Is he telling the truth?"

The Asian woman was silent for a moment before she answered succinctly, "Yes."

Well damn, looked like she couldn't hurt the bastard. Pity.

Unfortunately, that left her at a loss of what to ask next. With no further questions, what did they do with Porky here?

"So, is it my turn to ask questions?" Pig-guy asked giddily. "Okay? Great! When you three—"

Huntress slammed her fist into the man's mouth, stopping whatever gross, disgusting thing he was about to say. She really didn't want to know.

* * *

Christ, she was tired. Barbara stretched her arms, trying to work some of the soreness out of them. Even though she had been making it a habit to patrol the city late at night, that coming with its own brand of exhausting, she had not been prepared for Halloween 2.0.

She didn't think Dick or Tim had been either.

" _Man, I'm glad school was cancelled. I don't think I can move,"_ Tim groaned.

" _I'm still feeling pumped,"_ Dick admitted. _"I'm wired."_

Yes, it was conference call again.

"So what were you two able to do? After I left," she asked as she raised her arms over her head.

" _Things started to cool down,"_ Dick reported. _"We had some trouble with one of the cops trying to arrest us. He managed to grab Tim, I mean, Robin here, and I had to pry him away. That guy was...he was something else."_

Barbara frowned. "Was he overweight, dirty-looking, and had five o'clock shadow?" she inquired.

" _Beefy fingers, don't forget,"_ Tim added. _"I can still see the bruising on my arm."_

"I think that might have been Bullock," she told them. "He doesn't like vigilantes."

" _I think we can tell,"_ Dick replied. _"What about you? What did you do?"_

"Nothing much, just had to save my stepmother from being executed by some False Facers. Unfortunately, the truck got away so I wasn't able to figure out what they were up to," she said. She stopped to take the time to pop her neck, and audible crack coming from the vertebrae. Oh, that felt good. "Since I'm not crying, I managed to save Sarah. I got out of there quick. By the way, I had to test my rope out there. It worked if you were wondering."

" _You didn't try it out on a skyscraper, I'm hoping,"_ Tim deadpanned. _"You could have gotten yourself hurt."_

"Says the guy with the bruised arm," she retorted. "My equipment worked, that's all that mattered and I am here."

" _I'm actually more worried about what all of that was about,"_ Dick stated.

" _What do you mean by that?"_ Tim asked.

" _Why did this False Face Society pull this stunt. It was like the Joker's rampage from a few years ago. The Joker had a reason for everything he did. So what was Black Mask's reason?"_ She could hear Dick grow more and more frustrated as he spoke.

" _That stuff. You know, from the truck we found that Batman took from us?"_ Tim spoke up. _"You think there might be a connection? Maybe last night was a smokescreen so that he could move it without anyone knowing."_

That was a scary thought. What made it scarier was that none of them knew what that stuff was or what it did outside of the program that Barbara had been running on it. They knew that someone did know what it was but _he_ wasn't sharing that information.

If they didn't know what it was or what it did, how could they defend themselves from it? Especially if there was a lot more of it.

" _That's a thought. What do you think Barb—I mean—"_

"Call me by my name," she interrupted Dick. "As to what I think, that's a good possibility. When I was in that parking garage, one of those False Facers was driving that van out of there without waiting to see if I was killed. There must have been something really sensitive in it, something they didn't want me seeing."

" _Okay, worse case scenario, that van had more of that stuff in it. If it wasn't the only one, that means that there's a shit ton of it in Gotham somewhere,"_ Tim concluded. _"What do those guys want to do with it? What are they going to do with it?"_

" _Nothing good,"_ Dick stated grimly. _"But we'll be ready for them."_

As much as Barbara wanted to agree with Dick, she had her doubts. She was uncertain about this whole mess, and that scared her more than anything.


	22. The Incredibly Lucky Edgar Dempsy

The Incredibly Lucky Edgar Dempsy

As Gotham nervously settled down for the long night to come, there were those who were not intimidated by the events of the previous night.

One of those individuals happened to wear a gray-colored cape and hood and bore a bladed hand as a weapon. The Phantasm was on the prowl once more, hunting new prey as it's fury had not been sated. It was the embodiment of vengeance itself, and it would avenge the wrongs done onto it by its former ally.

It was only getting started too. Last night, it had interfered with the False Face Society's designs for its secretive scheme simply called Operation Dread. Several of the Society's members had fallen to its skill and tactics and to further instill a sense of fear, it had decapitated the fallen and removed their bodies, packing them up in their altered mode of transportation.

That vehicle was now at the bottom of the harbor.

Only the heads had been left behind on purpose, a message to those that the predators were now being preyed upon. It did not know whether its message had been received, much less understood.

The specter was under no illusions that its actions had influenced that Society's plans. it was probably the equivalent of a speed bump and nothing more. That would not stop it from striking fear into their hearts, their angel of death incarnate.

Operation Dread was important and that would be the way to hurt Black Mask the most. To take what was most important to him, and slash it apart. The bastard would know the price of betrayal, one way or another. In the meantime, his subordinates would have to feel its wrath first. They were vulnerable and unsuspecting. Their arrogance and belief in their own invulnerability would be their downfall.

It was no feat for the ghostly killer to enter the penthouse where one of Black Mask's trusted lieutenants resided. It was a man who made an above average living who desired the finer things in life and would do anything to get them. If the killer had a sense of fashion to be offended, this place would most definitely be offensive.

The owner of this place was in the midst of making it extravagant, which meant there were a lot of things out of place here. What stood out most was a collection of masks, ones with origins from all over the world. The Phantasm cared not for them; they were only a curiosity as well as a hint that it was on the right track.

With the lights off and no sounds of movement, the place was empty. No one was at home. That mattered little; it could wait. It could wait as long as it took. That's how it was able to take much of its prey by surprise, from Chuckie Sol all the way to Buzz Bronsky. Everything from Sal Valestra on had been immediate. No waiting involved. This was a return to form, something it preferred as it allowed it to gauge how it prey would react when it introduced itself.

The minutes ticked by uneventful until sometime after nine. The clock on the wall was large and garish and the Phantasm had little else to do until the door lock clicked. Drawing back into the shadows, it waited as the door opened and in came an unkempt blond haired man, five o'clock shadow visible even from where the killer hid.

Looks like the man had been out partying. His step was a little unstable, a result of drinking too much alcohol? Someone was probably celebrating the recent success that brought the city to its knees if only for a short time.

"Where's that bitch?" the man muttered as he blinked blearily as he looked around, searching for someone else perhaps? "Right behind me… Stupid… Gettin' lost…"

He was expecting someone, obviously. That wouldn't do. It preferred this to be private. Company would make this...awkward. So, prematurely, the Phantasm released its smoke, letting the gray-colored mist roll across the floor and build up around the killer.

The door to the penthouse remained opened as the owner stumbled further in, searching his pockets. It took him several moments to notice the smoke, by then the toxin embedded in it already in his system. With his eyes, he followed it, muttering all the while until he got a good look at the home invader.

"Edgar Dempsy, your angel of death awaits."

Edgar's eyes widened. "You! You-you're supposed to be dead!" he cried out.

"You can't kill what is already dead," it replied, raising its bladed hand threateningly.

The Phantasm sprung into action, leaping at poor Edgar while slashing at him. It was only thanks to his inebriated state that Edgar fell backwards and onto the floor, avoiding the blade. The lamp that took his place was less lucky, the blow practically tearing it in half as pieces of glass scattered about the penthouse.

Scrambling away, Edgar fled to the door with the Phantasm hot on his heels. Instead of a slash this time, it thrusted its bladed hand this time, Edgar losing his footing this time and falling out of the way once more. The blade stabbed into the door and stuck, giving Edgar the chance to get back on his feet and flee. With some effort, it pulled the blade out and observed as Edgar knocked a woman over. The woman swore at him, demanding to know where he was going and wasn't he taking her to his place?

The woman was silenced as she got a good look at his ghostly pursuer, enveloped in smoke, as it gave chase.

Edgar reached the elevators and hurriedly mashed the buttons to open them. He looked up, his pupils turning to pinpricks as he witnessed his stalker's calm approach. Luck again was on Edgar's side, though, and the elevators opened, empty of any life within. Throwing himself inside, he hit the button to close the door. Seeing its prey escaping, the Phantasm stabbed its blade between the doors, as Edgar repeatedly mashed the button for the bottom floor.

It had been a bit late as the elevator registered the doors being closed and began to descend. Luckily, it had some leverage thanks to the blade and the phantom was able to pry open the doors. Seeing the elevator was only lowered a couple stories at this point, it leapt and grabbed onto the cable lowering it, sliding down it until it reached the elevator roof.

Looking around, it spotted the rooftop emergency exit and proceeded to pry that open to reveal a terrified Edgar Dempsy within.

"Get away from me! Leave me alone!" Edgar cried out as he shrank himself into a corner, trying to keep as far away from it.

Not this time, Edgar's luck was going to run out now. Letting more of its smoke pour into the elevator's confines, it fully opened the emergency hatch and readied itself to drop in. At least that was the plan until Edgar's luck came back into play and the elevator reached its destination. The doors had barely begun to open when Edgar clawed his way out of it, leaving the spectral killer to continue its pursuit.

This was becoming annoying.

It had come too far already to let this one escape. No, it was going to finish it regardless of exposure. If this revealed to Black Mask that it hadn't been killed along with that bomb, so be it. At the very least it would taunt that traitor with his own failure.

People stared in shock and horror as it emerged from the elevator, smoke around it as it ran after Edgar, chasing him from the building and across the street to the park that laid there. Oh Edgar, not your smartest decision to today. Second only to your earlier drinking.

Edgar was not in the state to be running like this. He was panting and gasping for air already, and in a bid to lose it, he was heading for a grove of trees, hoping to lose it there. Now his luck was running out as to reach those trees, he had to run uphill, slowing him down but not the Phantasm.

Catching up, it reached out and hit the palm of its gloved hand into his hand, shoving Edgar straight into a very thick oak. Slowing down and coming to a stop, the Phantasm spun Edgar around while raising its more dangerous hand, wanting its prey to see his death coming.

"There's no escape this time, Edgar Dempsy," it intoned ominous as it stabbed at the man.

Then something small struck its hand, causing it to miss and stab into the tree. Would this man's luck not quit?! With some effort, it managed to remove its blade from the tree, prying bark off and sending it to land ingloriously on the ground.

Scanning their surroundings, the Phantasm spotted something that it had not planned on encountering tonight.

Standing several yards away was the Batman, glaring at the scene of its next killing.

* * *

"You," the hollowed voice spoke, clearly recognizing the vigilante. "I've already told you, this does not concern you."

"The moment you started killing people was when I became involved," Batman retorted darkly. "You will give yourself up, or things are going to get very hard for you."

The scrawny man trapped between the murderous phantom and the tree darted his eyes between the two vigilantes, weighing his chances of slipping away. Slowly, he began to take a step away when the phantom whipped its head around to stare coldly at him. It was almost by instinct he raised his scythe up to strike the blond-haired man.

And it was that action that sent Batman rushing at them, leaping at the last possible moment and ramming into the phantom, arms wrapping around his waist as the dark-clad man tackled his foe to the ground. The moment they landed, Batman went into a roll, ending up on his feet as he whipped around to stare at the recovering phantom.

In the meantime, the blond-haired man took that opportunity to flee, much to Batman's relief. There would be time to catch up with him later; the primary objective was subduing the murderer before him. "You don't know what you've done!" the phantom wailed before launching at the Dark Knight, swinging his hand-blade across his body at him.

Ducking it, the dark-clad vigilante felt a breeze as the arm sailed harmlessly over him. Straightening out, Batman shot an arm up, pressing his forearm against his foe's to prevent a backswing. At the same time, he sent his other fist flying, slamming it into the phantom's face, causing him to jerk his head to a side.

Thrown off balance, the phantom stumbled a step away, which led up to the vigilante's follow-up move, dropping low and leaning to a side as he lashed out with his leg, kicking his foe's feet out from under him. The phantom crashed onto the wet grass, eerily not crying out in surprise. However, this man apparently could take a blow as he immediately recovered, quickly rolling onto his hands and knees before pushing himself up onto his feet. Considering Batman was crouched on the ground with his side towards his opponent, this wasn't exactly a good position for him.

Instead of charging though, the phantom shot out his hand, smoke blowing out and towards the Dark Knight. Eyes narrowed, he knew exactly what his foe was trying to do, exposing him to his fear toxin-laced gas. Well, he had the antidote and its corresponding antibodies in his system. No way was this going to affect him.

Pressing down with his legs, Batman launched himself into the smoke, extending an arm out and holding it as straight as he could, his hand balled into a fist. Exploding through the smoke, his fist rammed into the phantom's face, this time causing a loud cry to echo out of his mouth as he stumbled back.

And that was an opening practically gift-wrapped for him. Pressing his advantage the moment he touched back down on the ground with his feet, Batman pushed forward, crouching down as he delivered punch after punch into the phantom's abdomen. Oddly enough, however, his first few punches seemed to glance off of the phantom's sides, as if his body was thinner than his appearance indicated. A quick adjustment allowed him to land more solid blows inwardly.

However, his advantage ended as the phantom suddenly struck at him, landing a solid hit to the side of his head with his fist. Momentarily stunned as his head jerked to a side, the Dark Knight was even more surprised when his foe backed off instead of pressing his counterattack. Slowly turning his head, the dark-clad man found it curious his opponent had taken a defensive stance, hand and scythe held out in front of him as he crossed both arms at the wrist.

Allowing his cape to envelop him, Batman began to step to his left, circling around his opponent as he kept his position, slowly turning around to face the vigilante. "Why do you protect such filth?" the phantom suddenly demanded. "He does not deserve your protection!"

"Don't worry, I'll get around to him soon," Batman promised, eyeing the fighting pose before him. It was definitely defensive in nature as he had previously identified. If he wasn't mistaken, his opponent seemed reluctant to carry on a long fight, though that was definitely at odds with his visibly public chase of his prey into the park. "Tell me, Beaumont, what's your connection to the False Face Society?"

The phantom flinched at the use of his name. So this was Carl Beaumont. That only made Batman's eyes narrow in anger. "You...you don't know what you speak of," Beaumont protested weakly.

"Oh, believe me, I do. You're the only thing connecting the Valestra gangster murders and the Black Mask together. In fact, they're the reason why you had to leave town until now, returning only to kill them so that you could escape scot-free."

"You have no idea what they've done to me," Beaumont snapped back. "They took everything from me! They deserve what came to them! Not even you can defend what they've done!"

"I don't care," the vigilante retorted, still circling his foe. "Nothing they've done gives you the right to kill them. You're not even doing this for the greater good; it's for yourself."

Beaumont was silent for a moment, processing the Dark Knight's words. Then, "That is where you and I differ."

That made Batman scowl. "So what, you're going to continue to keep killing? When does it stop? When you're satisfied? When they're all dead? You're trapping yourself in a cycle of death because you'll always find one more person to kill, one more person worthy of death. It will never end."

"Then so be it," Beaumont said with finality in his voice. "Whatever it takes."

If that was Beaumont's choice, then there wasn't much else he could do. Slowly moving a hand to his belt, Batman pulled out a bat-shaped shuriken. Shoving his cape off his body so it billowed out behind him, he sent the projectile flying at Beaumont, the shuriken spinning as it raced towards its target.

In response, the man lashed out with his hand-blade, striking the shuriken in midair and splitting it into two pieces, each piece flipping harmlessly through the air until they hit the ground. That had been a distraction though, one that Batman took advantage of as he closed the distance between them. Again, he shot an arm up to block the backswing of his opponent's arm, pulling back his other fist to throw it.

However, it seemed Beaumont wasn't going to fall for that trick again. Leaning back, he raised his leg up and kicked it forward, his foot landing solidly against Batman's stomach, causing him to back off as the air was forced out of his lungs. Quickly sucking in as much as he could, the Dark Knight readied himself for the phantom's next strike.

Beaumont didn't disappoint. Slashing his hand-blade through the air harmlessly in front of him, he lunged at the dark-clad vigilante, throwing a fist at his face. Ducking to a side, Batman dodged the blow easily, drawing back another fist again to punch his foe. However, Beaumont pivoted on his feet, twisting himself around so that his back faced the vigilante.

That was when Batman saw the man's arm up at shoulder height and bent, the elbow jutting out. Because of Beaumont's spin, he rammed his elbow right into the dark-clad man's sternum, once more knocking the wind out of him. A pain searing into a foot, made him hiss what little breath he had left as the phantom stopped on his foot with his own.

That was when his foe took a step forward to put some distance between them so that he could twist around, swinging his scythe blade at the vigilante's throat. Pure instinct was the only reason Batman avoided the slice as he jerked backwards, feeling the wind batter at his throat as the blade narrowly missed. It was only then he was able to suck in a gasp of much needed air.

Yet, Beaumont wasn't done. Facing the vigilante completely, he then kicked his leg up, aiming to land a kick right against the Dark Knight's groin. Instantly, he shot a hand down, stopping the kick in its tracks as foot connected with palm. Of all the damn blows Beaumont could use, he was going for a low one there. Forget honor and respect, the old man was beginning to push Batman's buttons in a bad sort of way.

And that was why he let out an enraged warcry, lunging forward as he slammed a vicious haymaker against Beaumont's chest, the blow forcing the man to stumble backwards as he cried out in pain.

Snarling, the Dark Knight pressed his advantage, throwing another punch as he sailed towards his foe. This time, however, Beaumont dove to a side, causing his attack to fly through the air harmlessly as the man went into a roll until he ended up on his feet, pivoting around to keep his front facing the vigilante as his cape swung about his body.

As Batman twisted around to keep up his offensive, a cloud of smoke suddenly began gathering around Beaumont, enveloping him until he vanished from sight.

 _Damn it, not again!_ Batman dashed at the cloud of smoke, rushing through it until he exploded out the other end empty-handed. In his head he knew it was a wasted effort, but he had to try nonetheless.

Though frustrated, at least he had made some progress with the murdering vigilante. He had an identity now and no matter what Beaumont did, he could be tracked down. That was the only solace Batman had at the moment.

And then he heard Zatanna speak up in his ear. _"Uhh, Batman? I think we have a problem."_

* * *

" _What is it?"_ Bruce's voice rumbled through the speakers. Gee, that didn't sound all that welcoming, did it?

So how was she supposed to phrase this? That during her moodiness in the cave, she'd been alerted to his little skirmish in the park? Well, yeah, okay, that would work, she guess. "I noticed you were fighting our murderer," Zatanna began.

" _And?"_ Bruce prodded her, sounding impatient.

"So I watched," the dark-haired woman blurted out. "And I saw that last move the guy put on you. I...I don't think that was a man."

There was a pregnant silence, one that found Zatanna biting her lips as she waited for Bruce's response. _"Come again?"_ he finally said, his voice full of disbelief.

"I said that you weren't fighting a man. I think that was a woman."

Whatever moment of uncertainty had possessed her friend evaporated instantly. _"Your proof?"_ he pressed.

"As I was saying, that last move," Zatanna began to explain, feeling less nervous now. You just never knew with those macho guy types how they felt about fighting the fairer sex. "That was a Ms. Hogie move."

There was another silence before she heard the disbelief come back into Bruce's voice. _"You have to be joking."_

"I'm serious!" the magician protested before she paused, taking a moment to collect her thoughts. If she was going to convince Bruce of her discovery, she needed present him with every fact she had. "Look, she just did a four-combo strike on you, right? First to the solar plexus, then your foot, then your throat, and lastly your groin. That's the Ms. Hogie special for self-defense."

Again, another moment of silence before, _"And you're sure about this?"_

"Positive."

" _Bring up Hogie's student enrollment records then. I want you to cross-reference all of the names with people that have been in Gotham for the last month."_

"Aye-aye," Zatanna said before she got about doing Bruce's request. Typing into the keyboard the order, she sent it in and waited for the Batcomputer to process it. It took a few seconds before a window open, revealing all of the results. "Okay, I got them," she reported as she began scanning the list. There were a lot of names, not that she was surprised by that. Ms. Hogie was a really good teacher after all. Fortunately, the Batcomputer had highlighted all of the names of people that were currently in Gotham. It was because of that Zatanna found her own name.

However, there was another name that caught her eye and it made the blood in her face drain out. _You've got to be kidding me!_ "Umm, Batman?" she began hesitantly. "I found...something...I think…"

" _What is it?"_

"Well, it's…" How could she put it? This...this was big and even she could figure out the implications. "Andrea," she finally blurted out. "Her name's on the list."

This time the silence was tense. Zatanna could feel one of her legs begin to tremble with every passing second out of nervousness. How would Bruce take this? That his ex was a potential murderer? She didn't even like the woman, but even she didn't want that, not for Bruce.

" _You're sure about this,"_ Bruce asked her then, his voice not betraying his feelings. That only made Zatanna ache harder for him. Of course he would shut himself up. That's how he dealt with everything.

Still, she didn't spare either of them the stark reality of the situation. "Yeah. She was in the class two years after me. I mean, yeah, there's a lot of other women on the list, me included, but—"

" _It could be coincidence,"_ Bruce finished for her, _"or perhaps not. At the very least she's a suspect."_

Zatanna swallowed. Okay, she needed to get this out, or else she knew she'd regret not asking him. "Are you okay with this?"

" _No, not really. But I can't let my feelings cloud the situation. If Andrea is the real killer, then I need to find proof."_

 _Oh, you still have feelings for her?_ Zatanna wasn't sure whether to feel good about that or not. On the one hand, he was at least expressing the turmoil he felt; on the other hand, it was for another woman that he just recently made up with and was apparently planning a future with at one point. Sometimes Zatanna wished she could leave well enough alone.

" _I have a job for you,"_ Bruce's voice suddenly cut through her musings, causing her to jolt in the chair. _"The chemicals that were stolen last night, I need you to try tracking them down. Anything you can find would be helpful."_

"You got it. What are you going to be doing?" she couldn't help but ask.

" _I'll be paying Andrea a visit. She and I need to have...words…"_

Okay, suddenly Zatanna wasn't feeling so bad anymore.

* * *

Edgar Dempsy had escaped the park with his life, huffing and puffing from his lack of fitness and exercise as he bent over, hands on his knees. That had been too close. Trapped between two freaks, one of them the freaking Batman!

Black Mask. He needed to know about this! He needed to know that the bastard he hired to off Valestra and his gang was still alive. Now that he thought about it, there were a few less guys after last night. He had thought that they had gotten caught up in everything, collateral damage and all that.

No, that assassin was coming after them. This was not a good time for that, not when Operation Dread was about to be put into action. With any luck, Batman was taking care of it. Okay, okay, phone. Where was it?

He began checking his pockets, searching for the device and starting to swear up a storm. Where was it? Had he dropped it somewhere? God damn it! This was not the time for this!

A hand grabbed his hair and jerked his head while something sharp stabbed into his back.

"No one to save you this time, Edgar Dempsy," the Phantasm told him. The sharp object in his back was removed only to be placed against his throat.

Edgar's luck had finally run out.

* * *

Author's Note: Originally put in as a joke in _City of a Thousand Laughs_ , Ms. Hogie makes a return as a potentially revealing clue to the Phantasm's identity. Anyone whose seen the movie already knows who it is, anyway, but again, Ms. Hogie was mentioned in the movie as well. Now, Edgar Dempsy is an actual character from the comics and has a link to Black Mask, specifically caring for Black Mask's mask collection. So here he is, a member of the False Face Society and now a victim of the Phantasm. There's quite a bit in this chapter, plotwise, building up to that finale that's just around the corner.


	23. Birth of the Trinity

Birth of the Trinity

Batman landed on the balcony, the soles of his boots touching down silently. The glass balcony doors separated him from the hotel room, which he moved to remedy by grabbing onto the door handle to slide it open. Due to hubris by the hotel staff, it slid open and the vigilante swept into the room.

Considering Andrea was the current CEO of her family's accounting firm, she had been able to select one of the better rooms of the hotel. There was a main room fully furnished with couches, chairs, tables, and a mini-bar. A doorway off to his left gave entry to the bedroom. For now Batman ignored it as he began to walk about the main room, his feet treading lightly. He didn't bother with turning on the lights since they were off; no need to alert anyone of his presence just yet, assuming there was anyone else here.

As far as he could see, nothing appeared disturbed. Housekeeping had been in at some point and straightened everything out, removing used glasses from the mini-bar and replacing them with clean ones. Once he was sure there was nothing else to learn here, the vigilante moved towards the bedroom in hopes of finding something more substantive.

Again, Housekeeping had done its work here as well. The bed was made, the curtains closed, and the carpet vacuumed. There was no sight of any clothes haphazardly dropped anywhere. Keeping up his vigil, the dark-clad man made his way to the closet and opened the doors, finding several outfits of Andrea's hanging from hangers. There were a few dresses, a couple pantsuits, and even the dress the redhead had worn at the Rutherford Gala, along with some empty hangers. A suitcase was sitting on a small stand upzipped. Opening the lid, he was quick to note that the suitcase was empty, so he let the lid fall back down. There were also several pairs of shoes neatly positioned on the floor, though Batman found it curious there didn't appear to be an odd gap between them, a sign that a pair was missing due to use.

Still, there didn't seem to be anything that pointed to Andrea being the killer vigilante. Batman wasn't sure whether to be concerned or relieved to be honest. When Zatanna had told him about her suspicions, followed by her discovery of Andrea's background in self-defense, he had felt like he had taken a punch to the gut. The rational part of him demanded that he find more than circumstantial proof while the irrational was unable to comprehend why Andrea would be trying to kill people. Wasn't it her father that was behind the murders?

Admittedly, some of what Zatanna said made sense. During their fight, he had noticed how the phantom had been smaller, thinner than expected. If that was the body of a woman rather than a man, that would be a possible explanation. Still, it was only a suspicion at the moment and there didn't seem to be any further proof. For now he'd only view this as just another case rather than a matter of someone he knew.

Closing the closet, Batman then moved towards another doorway, this one leading to the bathroom. Standing in the doorway, he surveyed the smaller room, noting the new towels hanging from the rack and the number of hygiene products neatly arranged on the counter. Yet, a tall wicker basket caught his attention and he stepped towards it.

Opening the top, Batman glanced in and saw a number of Andrea's clothes, ranging from shirts, to pants to bras and panties.

" _Bruuuuuuce,"_ Zatanna's voice suddenly spoke up in his ear. _"Why are you looking at your ex's underwear?"_

Judging from the dark-haired woman's tone, Batman knew that he needed to choose his next words carefully. She sounded deceptively calm, despite the sing-song tone she used when saying his name. He was quite aware that Zana was not the biggest fan of Andrea and anything he said that could be misconstrued would be.

"I'm checking her hamper for her previous day's clothes," he answered her as calmly as he could.

" _Really?"_ the magician asked, sounding not the least bit convinced. _"And this is supposed to help out how?"_

"Andrea rarely wore multiple outfits a day," the vigilante replied as he reached in and gently grabbed the dress at the top of the pile, moving it to a side so he could see under it. "So I'm looking to see where yesterday's outfit is."

And wouldn't you know it, there was the blouse and skirt Andrea had been wearing right beneath the dress he held. Considering the dress was on the casual side, Batman couldn't see her changing into it after she left the manor. No, this was most likely today's outfit.

" _So, Mr. Detective, what have you found out?"_ came Zatanna's sarcastic question.

"Andrea's changed," he spoke blandly. "Into what I don't know."

" _Perhaps she's at some party? Or how about a meeting with her board? They could be at some ritzy restaurant and she needed to look nice."_

"There's not any relevant gala tonight," the vigilante retorted. "If there was, we'd be there. As far as meeting with her board, there's no need. There's another scheduled meeting between her and the Wayne Board in a couple days, so she'd be getting ready for that."

" _You know, if you're expecting to find this costume of hers, I really doubt she'd toss it in a laundry hamper,"_ the magician pointed out, something Batman found himself agreeing with. _"So you still think going through her dirty laundry is a good idea, or are you going to make sure she's still wearing her lacy panties?"_

"Well, I would go through yours, but you don't wear any."

There was a moment of silence before, _"...I can go buy some."_

Smirking, Batman lowered the dress back down and closed the hamper lid. Leaving the bathroom, he re-entered the bedroom and came to a full stop. Next to the doorway was a vanity with some of Andrea's personal effects. There was a small jewelry box, a make-up kit, and a picture frame with a photo of her, her father, and a man he didn't recognize. None of those drew his attention as much as a small, round, golden locket did, the piece of jewelry glimmering in the moonlight.

Slowly, Batman approached the vanity until he stood next to it. Reaching down, he picked up the locket, seeing a heart engraved in its face. Opening it, he was greeted with the sight of a small photograph of him and Andrea, looking happy and smiling.

 _C'mon, Bruce, it's just a picture. Don't tell me you're afraid of cameras._

For awhile, Batman was absorbed by the picture. He could practically recall the day it was taken. He had just given her the locket as a gift and Andrea had wanted a picture to put in it. Though reluctant, he had given in. Alfred had done the honors of working the camera.

Quickly he snapped the locket shut, clutching it tightly in his grasp before he set it back down. Back then, the redhead had never taken it off. That had obviously changed since her return to Gotham and their occasional interaction. To see it here, laid out as if it was just taken off was...was…

Just taken off?

Wouldn't it have made more sense to put it in the jewelry box? That was where it should have resided if Andrea hadn't been wearing it lately. So why was it out? Batman could feel a red flag go up in his head.

At a brisk pace, he left the bedroom, heading back to the balcony. Andrea was somewhere out in the city and he had to find her. Though there wasn't anything definitive about her hotel room, there were just too many things that stuck out as unusual, at least from what he remembered of her.

So of course the moment he reached the balcony he stopped in his tracks. There, in the sky, a light was shining up into the clouds. It was almost like the skull image Black Mask had used the previous night.

The only difference was this one was a bat.

It seemed he had a detour to make.

* * *

Dent was glad that it was a cloudy night, otherwise his makeshift signal might not be as visible as he had wanted.

Yes, he had made this bat light whatever you wanted to call it, and let's say he had had some inspiration for it. If something like this could work for the False Face Society, well, then maybe it would work for him.

It was small, not the large ones brought along to much more larger events. He had found some black paint and done his best to put a bat on the glass. He had hoped he had done a good enough job, though looking at the small, bright circle in the sky, it definitely could use more work.

So long as it did what it was supposed to do, it didn't matter if it looked like crap.

For maybe the nth time that night, he took a look around, paying attention to his surroundings for any sign of movement. Nothing so far. Nothing on this rooftop, nothing across the street, nothing just over the ledge. He was beginning to wonder who was going to show up first, the person he wanted to see or some cop wanting to know what he was doing up here.

Glancing down at his watch, he frowned at the time if only to do something other than wait. Looking back up, he sighs. He must be out of his mind. A child, his wife, could have told him that this wasn't going to work. He should shut this thing down before he made a fool of himself even more.

Taking one more look around, he stopped as he spotted a dark figure standing in the aisle between A/C units. His heart skipped a beat at the sight before he reminded himself that this was what he had been waiting for.

"What took you so long? I was beginning to think you weren't going to show up," He called out to the only person that this could be. The Batman.

No answer. The vigilante didn't say a word in response. Maybe his attempt at a joke had fallen flat. Then again, he wasn't known for being a comedian.

Tonight was a night for surprises, however.

"Gotham's a big city."

Total deadpan. Dent had to blink his eyes, as if doubting that he had heard what he had just heard. Maybe he should have checked his ears instead of his eyes but regardless. Had that been a…? Nevermind.

"I was serious about what I said last night. I couldn't stop thinking about it and I knew that I needed to talk with you again," the district attorney stated.

"What do you want?" It was less of a question, more like a demand. He could deal with that.

"Your help," he answered. "It's obvious that everyone in this city is out of their depth here. This False Face Society is having the time of its life and we're no closer to finding out how to bust these guys. Kinda reminds me of dealing with the mob. You, on the other hand, you have a talent for taking the fight to guys like these. I need you to do again, like you did the first time."

"I'm working on it," the Batman stated.

"You are? That's good to hear." Dent rubbed at his nose, the night air becoming chillier. "It's not enough to simply bust them, though. I want to do more than that. I want to put them behind bars like the animals they are. I want them to know justice. And I think maybe we can work something out, you and I."

"Like?"

Always straight to the point, this guy was. Good thing Dent liked working with guys like these. "The only way I can put these guys away, is with evidence. Hard evidence. The kind that makes defense attorneys squirm in their seats. The kind that makes up slam dunk cases. With that, I can put them away for a long time. That I can promise you."

Batman stood there silently, as if weighing his words. At least, that's what Harvey hoped he was doing. He didn't come all the way up here and wait for so long for anything less.

"What can you do with less?"

The vigilante's words made him jump for a second, the silence had been that long. What could he do with less? Well…

"I can get them off the streets, if only for a short time," he admitted. "At least, that'll give us time to work on the city before they can get out, but I'm not satisfied with that. I don't think you'd be with that either."

"You're right," Batman agreed with him. "But we have to be realistic. The False Face Society is not going to hand us all the evidence you want and need. We have to be adaptable."

Was he hearing things or was Batman saying "we?" Don't question it, Harvey, roll with it.

"So this is happening. We're going to be working off one another?" he asked, wanting the confirmation.

Before he could get it though, the door to the rooftop on the Gotham City Police Department's headquarters opened up. Time was up. However, the person on the other side of the door was not who he was expecting.

* * *

Shoving open the door that he was more than familiar with, Gordon was not in the mood to be dealing with stupid pranks this night. He had been in his office when he had turned around and spotted the light in the sky. Judging by the angle and how it was almost directly above the building, he had known where he had needed to go.

The first thing he had seen on the rooftop was Harvey Dent. The second was...

He stopped, almost frozen in his step. It had been three long years, longer than that, but he knew that costumed figured anywhere. The height, the weight, sort of, the posture, just...everything.

Gordon said nothing as he gazed out on the scene in front of him. The only thing he did was close the door behind him and stood in front of it, as if barring any exit. Completely pointless but the message it sent was more important.

There was so much running through his head right now. So many things he could say, so many things he could do.

"Gordon," Dent began to speak.

"Turn that thing off," the commissioner order, gesturing to the spotlight. "You don't need to be attracting any more unwanted attention."

He waited until Dent gave in and approached the spotlight, shutting it down. Now it was dark all around them, no source of light outside of the city lights. Just him, Harvey Dent, and…

"Where have you been?" he barked, glaring down Batman.

A second's pause. "Away," was the Batman's answer.

Gordon crossed his arms and glowered. "That's not good enough."

"It wasn't by choice."

"Do you expect that makes everything better? It wasn't your choice?" Now it was coming out, the anger the frustration, all of it. He couldn't hold any of it back.

"Gordon," Dent tried to reprimand him.

"Stay out of this, Dent," he snapped back, closing the distance between him and the pair. "There's something that the two of us need to discuss. Why did you leave? Why did you leave when everything was going to hell?"

He was expecting an answer. He didn't get any. That only pissed him off even more.

"You have nothing to say? That's your answer?" He was staring down Batman, never taking his eyes off those blank, white eyes. "Then answer me this. Why didn't you come back when we began to lose? When the mob, when Valestra took back control of this city? Why did you stay away?"

Was it him, or was that a look of shame he was witnessing? Gordon was used to seeing stoicism on that face, exhaustion, but not this. Never this.

And then, Batman rose to his full height, straightening himself out. "I had to find myself again."

Gordon didn't blink as he continued his stare down. Find himself? What did that even mean? No, you know what? No. He didn't need to know. He didn't want to know. It didn't matter because what would it change?

"It wasn't my intent to ever leave," Batman continued. "That doesn't change the last three years. But now, I'm back."

"And that makes things better?" Gordon raised both of his eyebrows in skepticism. "You're back now and we're going to get back on the right track magically. How do I know this isn't more snake oil you're trying to pour down my throat?"

"Gordon! That's enough!" Dent cut in. "Do you know what we're doing up here? We're discussing how we're going to take our city back."

"I've had that conversation before," Gordon retorted.

"Then you know how important this is," Dent urged. "This has to happen. You know it. If we're to make any, long-lasting change, this is where it starts."

"I was in the same place you are right now, Harvey. Nothing has changed."

"Sometimes things go wrong. No one ever said saving Gotham was going to be easy. There's always going to be stumbling blocks," Dent pointed out.

"And that last one was a homicidal clown." Gordon was not going to be holding back any punches here.

"And we beat him," Dent replied. "Where is that clown now? In a deep, dark place he won't be leaving anytime soon."

"Right, Arkham is the best place," Gordon scoffed.

"Ever tried to get out of a mental hospital? It's harder than getting out of prison. Believe me, Gordon," Dent argued.

Not that hard. Gordon wasn't going to say that one out loud because that would be too childish of him.

"What is your problem Gordon? Why are you so against this?" Dent demanded.

"My problem? I'll tell you what my problem is. I depended on him once," he pointed directly at Batman, "and was left high and dry. And you want me to trust _that_?"

"I don't make the same mistake twice." Look who was coming back into the conversation.

"Oh, so it's a mistake now. Let me tell you this. I wouldn't have minded if you had taken a little break after what the Joker did. I wanted to take a vacation myself," he admitted. "None of that is the point. The point is that you gave me hope. You gave me hope that anything was possible. You let me believe that one day, we'd make this city right. You gave me hope and then you crushed it. _That's_ my problem." He was breathing deeply as he finished speaking, shoulders rising with each breath he took. It was like he had ran a marathon.

"So tell me. Why should I trust you? Why should I trust you again when I know you can disappear at any time?" he added, his voice soft, almost tired at this point.

"There aren't any words I can say that would convince you," Batman said. "You may never trust me again. So if you can't trust my words, trust my actions. There are bigger things going on right now, than any of us imagined. I can stop it, but I'm going to need your help—the both of you."

"You have mine, along with the power of my office," Dent stated, putting his stance out there. The district attorney turned towards the commissioner, "How about it, Gordon? Do it one more time. Give it a chance."

Leveling Batman with the most severe look he could muster, "If things go wrong, will you disappear again? Will you do me the favor of being upfront with me now so I don't get my hopes up?"

A sharp nod was his answer.

"Alright. So where do we go from here?" Gordon asked.

"The False Face Society has been stockpiling fear toxin created by Dr. Jonathan Crane," the Batman began, his words creating a sinking feeling in Gordon gut. "I don't know what they intend on using it for, but I'm following up leads on them."

Fear toxin? What? Why did that name Crane sound familiar? "Crane? Wait, wasn't he that man we arrested a while back? The one at Phizer?"

"He was. He was seeking ingredients to create more of his toxin. Last night's attacks were just a cover so the False Face Society could get their hands on more ingredients to mass produce the toxin."

"So they can what? Use it? What does it do?"

Batman looked out to the city skyline, gazing at it before he responded with, "The gas elicits a hallucinogenic effect. Whoever breathes it in will visualize their worst fears and react accordingly. I've seen it used on people before and they ended up attacking the nearest person they viewed as a threat."

"Why would they want to mass produce that...unless...they aren't really going to use it, are they?" That sinking feeling in his gut was getting worse, the feeling telling him that he wasn't going to like the answer.

"I have reason to believe they will."

He did not need to hear that. Despite his feelings about the Batman, the one thing that he knew more than anything was that he did not exaggerate. If he believed that the False Face Society intended on using that toxin, he had a good reason for it.

"So how do we stop them?" No sense wasting time on the worst case scenario. What was he...where they going to do about this?

Again, another pause, one Gordon found himself hating. "I've managed to synthesize an antidote, but I doubt we'll be able to produce enough to inoculate the entire city," the vigilante finally said. "I'll send you what I have so we can have some partial defense. In the meantime, I'm going to be following up a few leads. I'll let you know what I find out."

"Do you know when they'll try use it?" Dent asked.

"That's what I intend to find out."

"That's better than nothing," Dent looked at Gordon. "If you can, can you make sure that you can get the GCPD inoculated with the antidote?"

"I can try," he answered, turning his full attention on Dent. "It won't be easy, so if you...could…"

Why wasn't he surprised? Gone. Again.

"What the!" Dent spun around, frantically searching for the costumed man. "Where did he!"

Gordon waited until the district attorney stopped moving around before telling him, "You get used to it."

Apparently, some things didn't change.

* * *

"If he wants to see me in panties, then he should've asked," Zatanna grumbled out loud. Of course, the only things that heard her were the bats and they weren't the best at having meaningful conversations. Heh, kinda like a certain guy she could think of.

Besides, she did wear panties! It's just that some of the clothes she wore didn't call for them is all. Being able to see a lady's underoos when she's wearing a rather tight dress did not a sexy look make. And then there was her magician costume, which pretty much had the undergarments built into the thing. And what was the point in wearing them with PJs anyways? It wasn't like they were all that important.

So okay, maybe she didn't wear them as often as she should. Still, that didn't give that pigheaded guy the right to go rifling through another woman's, especially in front of her, even if she was miles away in a dank, dark cave.

Yeah, she was hung up about this. You would be too.

Unfortunately, she still had a job to do at Bruce's request. Having to track down some stolen chemicals wasn't the easiest of tasks, even with a jumbo-sized super computer. Originally she tried finding out if any of the chemicals popped up anywhere, but that had been a bust. Who would have thought hiding stolen things was in vogue these days?

So Zatanna had to think for a bit to figure out her next move. She didn't really know the people who stole the chemicals since the GCPD hadn't officially identified them. Pretty much, that meant she went onto their servers and found bupkis. The cops hadn't been able to figure out who these people were other than they weren't your usual criminals. Big help there. That also had the unfortunate result of limiting where she could find their storage places. Properties, rentals, you name it, she couldn't find it without some name to go on.

And then she had her eureka moment. They had to transport this stuff, right? So where did they get their cars and vans and trucks? So, after finding out model numbers and license plate, Zatanna was making progress. Apparently a lot of these vehicles had been purchased in the last few months. Background checks on the buyers quickly ruled out a lot of the names, particularly the people with single purchases. While that should've been a no-brainer, the magician wanted to make sure just in case. For all she knew, someone came up with a lot of different aliases and picked each and every vehicle out that way.

Hmmm, now that she thought about that, that didn't make much sense.

Moving on, once the single buyers were crossed off her list, Zatanna moved onto the bulk purchasers. Doing a background check on each of them, the magician was interested to note that a couple of the buyers belonged to warehouses, particularly the one she had investigated and found a distinct lack of anything inside of it. Doing a search on the warehouse's owner, she was then presented with a name.

Jeremiah Arkham.

She had no idea who that was.

So, Zatanna did the easy thing and did a google search on the guy. Turned out he was the head of the Arkham Asylum place Bruce kept visiting lately. Hmm, why would a shrink own a warehouse in the industrial area of Gotham?

Fingers dancing across the keyboard, Zatanna ordered the Batcomputer to bring up everything it could on this Arkham place. Before she knew it, she was bombarded with window after window, ranging from the schematics of the building, to the security system, the current residents of the asylum, and employment records.

Okay, she had no idea where to start.

Staring at the screen, Zatanna racked her brain to figure out her next move. When she kept ending up with blanks, she let out a frustrated sigh. Why was she doing this again? She wasn't the detective who could spot out inconsistencies. She was a magician who had a flare for the magical, which surprisingly didn't help out with solving mysteries. Too bad she couldn't do a scrying spell. She didn't have any of the ingredients needed to do such a spell, not to mention a distinct lack of experience with it.

That forced her to settle with vadily scrolling through all the results the computer had brought up. Slouching in the chair, Zatanna propped her head up with a hand against her check, the elbow resting on the armrest. Her other hand was extended out, hitting the down arrow to move the images and documents up and down as she lazily read through them. Oh God, this was boring. So boooring. Sooooo boooooring…

"Oh goody, inventory," she groused as shipping orders appeared on the monitor. Skimming through it, it all looked routine until she reached some item she couldn't pronounce. Wrinkling her brow, she studied the word for a minute before coming to the conclusion that it was scienc-y. Hmm, didn't the stolen chemicals have scienc-y names?

"Computer: cross-reference this list for chemicals that were stolen last night," she ordered the computer and then waited.

Immediately, names on the list went red, along with the requested order amount. Jolting up in her seat, Zatanna stared at the numbers and names and came to the conclusion that was a lot of chemicals for an asylum.

Now that she thought about it, Bruce had said something about these chemicals, that they were all used in that fear gas that Crane guy made. And wasn't Crane at the asylum too? "Computer, bring up the security feeds for Arkham Asylum."

A new window appeared on the screen, divided into several different square boxes and showing different video footage of the compound. Shifting through each screen as fast as she could, the dark-haired woman soon found one feed of the parking lot, the one reserved for deliveries. Enlarging the frame, she quickly identified several vans parked there, each one identical to the other.

They were also of the same model she'd been doing a search on.

"Computer: rewind footage," Zatanna commanded, the feed suddenly stopping before going in reverse. She waited, eyes locked on the monitor, just waiting to see who the drivers were.

Surprisingly, no one showed up. Instead, the vans disappeared right off the screen, as if they hadn't been there ever. "Stop!" Zatanna shouted, the feed pausing. "Play," she continued, watching as the feed began to play.

When the vans suddenly reappeared she stopped the footage again. That was impossible, she was sure of it. No way could cars just pop out of nowhere; they just didn't work that way. It was almost as if there was a cutscene somewhere she was missing.

Or maybe that the footage had been doctored.

Okay, yeah, that made sense. Though it was a crappy job for anyone that wanted to watch it, these camera footages had been tampered with. "Computer: run diagnostic on footage," she commanded. "Determine if they've been doctored."

She could hear the computer process the command and implement it. As the second ticked by, Zatanna grew antsy, willing the damn thing to tell her already what she already knew.

And then it responded. "Positive verification of doctored footage," Zatanna read out eagerly. Oh yeah, she was onto something.

Hitting the comm. link in her ear, the dark-haired woman called out, "Batman, I think I found something."

Thankfully, Bruce was faster at answering her than the computer was. _"What do you have?"_

"I found doctored footage of Arkham Asylum," she reported to him. "There's a number of vans there that just pop into existence when you watch the tapes. One moment they're not there, the next they are. Your computer confirmed they'd been edited too."

" _Anything else?"_

"A whole lot. Like they had a lot of shipments of those chemicals that were stolen brought there, along with other ones needed for that fear gas. Also, that warehouse you had me look into because of that Batgirl and her friends—it's owned by the head honcho, Jeremiah Arkham. Tell me, am I good or am I good?"

Instead of receiving the praise she thought she would get, she heard a growl over the comm., something that made a shiver run up and down her spine.

Suddenly she had the feeling that Bruce was heading to Arkham and whoever he was going to see was not going to like the visit.

* * *

Author's Note: At long last, the Batman-Gordon-Dent trinity forms. And do mine eyes deceive me or is that a bat signal of sorts that Harvey was using? Hmm...


	24. The Puppetmaster Revealed

The Puppetmaster Revealed

The roar of the engine was deafening. Tightening his grip on the wheel, Batman floored the accelerator pedal, his replacement car tearing down the street as he made his way towards Arkham.

The Batmobile that had been damaged during Halloween 2.0 was still undergoing repairs, but fortunately he had had the foresight to have a space in the cave. While not having the same length as the damaged one, it still featured the same capabilities. Yes, it was still undergoing testing, but with the threat of the False Face Society, there was no time for more.

Zatanna's findings minutes ago had hammered in the last nail in the asylum's coffin. His instincts had been telling him something was up, but due to the previous night's attacks, they had been shelved. Arkham had his full attention right now and it wasn't going to be pretty.

Turning the wheel, the car made a sharp turn, the rubber of the wheels squealing from the friction. Never moving his foot off the accelerator, he raced down this new street, the buildings around him becoming nothing but blurs as he passed by them.

"Zana," he suddenly spoke into his comm. link. "I need you to do background checks on every Arkham employee and inmate. Everyone from the janitors to Arkham himself."

" _Roger,"_ the magician replied quickly. _"I take it you're heading over there right now."_

"That's right." Thoughts turning to the asylum, Batman began running through everything he knew about the place, including his own visits. The security was abysmal there, so anything that could be happening there was possible. If shipments of radioactive waste were being stored there, no one would've been the wiser. He himself had infiltrated the place easily, despite the assurance of Professor Strange to the contrary.

Hmm, now there was a thought. "Also, I need you to look into a Professor Hugo Strange," he added in his request to Zatanna.

" _Any particular reason for this guy?"_ the dark-haired woman asked.

"Just call it a hunch." The line went quiet then, which was alright with the vigilante. The more he thought about Strange, the more he was re-evaluating the eccentricities of the man. The doctor's fascination with him, not that it was surprising coming from a psychiatrist, bordered along the obsessive. During the dark-clad man's last interrogation with Crane, Strange had seemed to be playing both Crane and the vigilante against each other. Batman had been too distracted to think much of it at the time, but hindsight was kicking in and it was a bitch.

Strange knew something and he was dangling it over everyone's head. So that meant Batman had at least two visits at the asylum tonight. If the patterns held up, he wouldn't even have to seek out the second one—it would come right to him.

The sight of Arkham Asylum then appeared in his windshield. At the same time, Zatanna began to speak up. _"So I looked into this Strange guy. Found the usual—education, home address, childhood, etc. That all looks normal. When I looked into the peer evaluations for him at the asylum though, I found something interesting. The guy's a big time egomaniac and that's just from the Arkham employees. Apparently there are quite a few people who think he runs the asylum instead of Jeremiah Arkham and they said as much in the evals. And wouldn't you know it, those people suddenly stopped working at there."_

"Where there's smoke, there's fire," Batman remarked.

" _Uh huh. I'd say this guy's either power-hungry, or he's the lunatic running the nuthouse."_

"We'll be finding out fairly soon." Oh yes, they would be. Tonight, Strange was going to get his long-coveted session.

It just wouldn't be the way he imagined it.

* * *

Batman wasn't in the mood for finesse. The moment he reached Crane's cell, he kicked the door in, causing a loud _BANG!_ to echo up and down the halls. Crane jolted up in his bed, looking this way and that before his sights fell upon the vigilante.

As he strode towards the thin man, the Dark Knight threw a fist up into the air, his fist ramming into a hanging light bulb and shattering it. Reaching Crane, he grabbed the man and hauled him off his bed as he let out a surprised cry. Forcing the man onto the floor, Batman then dragged him over to the toilet and forced Crane's head into the bowl, submerging his face in water.

Immediately Crane began thrashing about, his arms batting at Batman's tight grip on the back of his head and shoulders. A torrent of bubbles made the toilet water splash about.

Then, as suddenly as he began, Batman let go of Crane and backed off, the thin man whipping his head out of the toilet as he gasped deeply for air. "Wh-what are you doing?!" he shrieked madly.

"What's the False Face Society planning?" the Dark Knight demanded. "What are they planning to do with your fear toxin?"

Glaring up at him, Crane retorted, "Do you know what kind of day I've had? I'm tired. I need sleep. Can't you come back at another time? Besides, you're the detective wannabe. Detect."

The vigilante narrowed his eyes at the thin man before he began leaning down towards him, the shadows of the cell encompassing him in darkness until the only thing the man could possibly see was the whites of his lens. "If you don't tell me what I want to know, I _will_ make things worse for you."

The incarcerated doctor swallowed, showing signs of nervousness. "You...you can't scare me," he sputtered out.

Staring at him coolly, Batman then pivoted around and stepped back to the hanging light fixture. Reaching up, his fingers gripped onto a couple exposed wires and he gently pulled them out. Once more were visible, he grabbed them with his entire hand and yanked even more out. Over and over he pulled until he was sure he had enough.

Turning back around, he marched back to Crane, wires in hand. With his other hand, he grabbed the back of the doctor's head and forced him back into the toilet, once more causing him to thrash around and splash water out of the bowl.

However, this time Batman shoved the wires in with him, flashes of light pouring out of the toilet bowl as the crackling of voltage rang out. Crane's body stiffened as he was electrocuted, his screams of pain muffled and altered by the water surrounding his face. Holding him like that, eventually Batman pulled both the wires and Crane out, shoving the trembling man to the floor.

"Like...I...said…" the dark-clad man growled slowly and purposefully, "I can make things worse for you. Now answer the damn question."

It took Crane a moment to gain control of his spasming, but when he did he gave Batman a look of utter hatred. "You know what my only solace in this place has been?" he spat out. "I knew that they were going to use my toxin. They were going to use it on the entire city. My only regret is that I won't be out there, watching it. Observing it. Studying it. It'll be the greatest experiment in fear and I am going to be stuck here, missing it."

Though he had suspected, Batman couldn't help the rage he felt at hearing the confirmation that Gotham would be under attack again. "How are they going to administer the gas?"

"The only way, I've found, that it affects the human body is through the respiration system," Crane told him, almost snarling. "That limits what they can do with it. So think, how do you think they are going to get it in the air? And fill every bit of Gotham with it? Because I don't know that answer."

Batman's response came in the form of him grabbing Crane and shoving him back into the toilet with the wires again, the sight of the man being electrocuted before his eyes appearing once more. He didn't hold Crane down for as long as he had the previous attempt, pulling him out after a few seconds and letting him hang onto the toilet bowl as he gasped loudly and painfully. "Answer me," he growled.

Crane spit a stream of water back into the toilet bowl. "I don't know," he gasped out. Just the movement of his hand, brandishing the electrical wires caused the thin man to cry out in terror. "Please don't! I don't know! I-I-I just… Tomorrow night! They're going to release it tomorrow night!"

That was something at least. "Where are they keeping the toxin right now?" he asked then.

"I wasn't told," Crane said miserably. "Probably where Black Mask can keep an eye on it. Play it close to his chest. And I told you, I've only met his representative, not the man himself. I don't know where he is. I just made the toxin, that's all I did."

From the way Crane spoke, it was as if he had made a new batch since his incarceration, which couldn't be since he was locked up. But then the vigilante recalled that shipments of the ingredients for his toxin had been coming here. So if Crane really was making more, then it would have to be here…

"Then tell me who's helping you," he demanded.

"Haven't you had enough already? I'm worn to the bone already and you're not help...ing…" Crane trailed off as the dark-clad man loomed over him. "It won't do you any good. It can't stop anything."

"That's for me to decide. You've been making the toxin here; that means you needed help getting in and out of your cell without anyone being the wiser. Give me a name and I won't leave you here to fry."

"You...you wouldn't," Crane refused, trying to call his bluff.

"Do you want to find out?"

Crane eyed the wires warily. "My therapist," he said after a moment in a voice that was almost a whisper.

Strange—damn it. Whipping his head around, Batman sought out the presence of the psychiatrist, finding no sign of him. Goddamn it. He didn't have a moment to waste. "If I have to come back here again, there's not a soul on the planet that will save you from what I'll do to you," he threatened the man. "So, if you have anything else to share, now's the time to do it."

"The last...shipment should have been picked up an hour ago," Crane admitted, shrinking in on himself. "I slept with a stuffed pumpkin until I was seventeen."

He leaned in closer. "I'm losing my patience."

"All I've been doing is making the toxin. When more of the ingredients comes in, I make more. Then it gets taken away and I don't see it anymore. I'm just a cog in this. I did my part. It's not like they trusted me with every detail! I promise, I'm telling you everything I know!" His speech sped up the longer he talked, growing louder until he was nearly shrieking his last words.

For the moment, Batman felt Crane was telling the truth. He didn't have any lingering suspicions this time, unlike his other interrogations. He'd leave the frightened doctor alone...for now.

Dropping the wires, he turned and left the cell, leaving Crane to tremble on the floor. Making sure to close the door once he was out of the cell, Batman was just about to move down the corridor when he came to a full stop.

Standing in the cell right in front of him was a pale-faced man, red lips spread wide in a large smile. There were burn scars on the side of his face, no longer hidden by gangly hair as it had been cut and styled.

The Joker stared at him through his sunken eyes. "You know," he began, his voice cheery, "I know we've had our differences in the past, but it has been a pleasure seeing you work. I mean truly, wow, that was masterful! You must tell me who taught you."

All Batman did was ball his hands into tight fists, refusing to let the madman's words get to him. They were empty words, no more. Turning away, he began to walk down the corridor, putting the two criminals far behind him.

"Hey, don't leave! Things were just getting interesting! Oh wait, I know, you're busy! Well, we'll just have to talk about this later. My people will call your people—we'll do lunch! Call me!" A low chuckle was made before Batman heard the Joker's last words, this time addressed to Crane. "Johnny, Johnny, Johnny, what _ever_ did you do?"

* * *

It wasn't long before Batman found Strange's office. The professor had made sure he was relatively close to the patients so the vigilante hadn't had to search the entire asylum.

Looking at the glass front, the gold letters of Strange's name engraved into its surface, the Dark Knight couldn't help but note that the office was dark. At least that's what he was able to ascertain due to the absence of light filtering through the glass. Oddly enough, there was a note taped to the door, addressing the janitor to not bother cleaning the room.

Reaching a hand up, Batman grabbed the doorknob and gave it a twist, fully expecting to find it locked. Much to his surprise, the knob turned and the door opened, swinging into the room.

The first thing he was quick to observe was Strange's desk, specifically the large reel-to-reel machine sitting on it. The moment the door open, a string attached to the door door pulled taut until it flicked on a switch the other end was tied to. Immediately the reels began to rotate.

" _Greetings Batman, as I am sure you are the one who has activated this recording. At the moment I am not here, not in the asylum, not in Gotham. I am far from your reach right now as I have anticipated you discovering my involvement with recent events."_

Batman narrowed his eyes as the words registered in his head. He was too late again—damn it. Still, while Strange may have already fled, he may have left some clue to his whereabouts or what his involvement with Crane was.

All the while Strange's recording continued. _"It was only a matter of time. I knew this and I have taken the necessary precautions to ensure that you will not be able to follow me or track me down. At the time I recorded this message, I have sold my home, put in my resignation with Jeremiah, and have liquidated all of my assets. I am as much a ghost now, similar to the killer that the Black Mask has hired to do some house cleaning for him._

" _I must admit, I am utterly fascinated by you. A man who chooses to dress himself in the style of a bat and ventures out into the night to deal justice upon those who prey on the weak and fearful, what I wouldn't do to be able to be in your presence right now to pick apart your mind. Unfortunately, circumstances prevent it, though I have so many theories and hypotheses...another time, I suppose._

As he searched the office, Batman's mind was a torrent of thoughts. The idea of having a murdering vigilante was insane to him, especially when crime families had always gone to the trouble of keeping their kills quiet. Though perhaps the publicity of these murders were the fault of the killer, it was still sickening to him that someone ordered the death of multiple people just so they could tie off loose ends.

Those thoughts came to a sudden stop though as he neared the desk. Right next to the playing recording was an elephant mask. It stood out in the office due to its randomness. Why would Strange have such a thing? Obviously he wanted the dark-clad man to see it, thus why he left it right out in the open. There was a meaning behind this, but what? What…

Wait, a mask. An animal mask to be precise. The False Face Society members that had been apprehended last night were also wearing animal masks. Could it be that Strange was also a member? If so, that definitely explained why he had been involved with Crane and the fear toxin. The more he thought about it, the more sure he became that Strange was indeed a False Facer.

" _Now, I am assuming that you have managed to deduce my involvement with the False Face Society or Jonathan has told you already. My guess would be the latter. You've probably already have paid him a visit. I do hope you weren't so hard on him. After all, we've known one another for quite some time, back when I was a professor at Gotham University and Jonathan was a doctoral student that I was mentoring._

" _He was a bright one, Jonathan, far superior than Jeremiah, but we'll get to that in time. Jonathan has always been intrigued by fear, the concept of it, how it affects us humans every day. Imagine my surprise when he applied his psychological background to chemistry and developed a precursor to his more refined fear toxin. Of course, all it did then was induce the sensation and experience of fear. I made a suggestion to him to add a hallucinogenic component to it. The results were so promising."_

And there was another puzzle piece. With Strange knowing about Crane's toxin, he could have introduced him to the False Face Society and that would've been the beginning of their plan. It also would've explained Crane's transfer to Arkham so that Strange could keep an eye on him as well as use their therapy sessions to make more of the toxin.

" _I never did agree with the University's decision to terminate him. By then I had already left and was making my mark here, in this very office. I had much work to do then with my patients that I was unable to come to his defense. I also had something else to distract me: You._

" _I still remember it, when you first unveiled yourself to us, to me, at the Gotham Museum of Art. Standing so victorious, announcing to those of the criminal underworld that their time was over. I watched as you combatted the troubled Victor Fries, dueled with the diminutive Oswald Cobblepot, and battled with the Joker through the streets of Gotham. You grew more and more fascinating with every year and your mystique did not wear away even when you vanished after the Great Gotham Fire._

" _Which brings us to this present moment: why you are here. You must know by now that Black Mask has stockpiled enough of Jonathan's invention to cover all of Gotham in a cloud of pure fear. Allow me to explain that neither you or Black Mask would be where you are today if it weren't for me. I introduced Jonathan as a prospective member of the False Face Society. I helped mastermind Operation Dread, Black Mask's magnum opus that will give him control of Gotham, if only that the citizenry wishes to not experience their deepest fears once more."_

A hostage situation—that's what this was all working towards. Expose the entire populace to the gas, cure them, and then threatened to gas them again unless they did exactly as told. For all of Strange's bragging, his ultimate plan was rather simple.

" _And I aided Black Mask in his attempts to distract you with that masked killer. I believe Black Mask wished to call them the Phantasm. Regardless, the Phantasm's only purpose was to distract everyone, and you as it turns out, while Black Mask was able to rid himself of several parasites that had outlived their usefulness, the Valestra Crime Family in particular. It all worked, according to my design._

" _You are also probably wondering as to why Jeremiah happens to have his name attached to certain properties in Gotham. Properties where you almost managed to stumble onto the scheme the Society has been up to. Again, that was my idea. The Arkhams have been a part of the fabric of Gotham for generations, it stand to reason they would own property in the city. No one would even check to see if that ownership was doctored and falsified. A red herring in case anyone got close. I am a bit disappointed that you haven't caught on to that. Of course, if you have then I offer my congratulations, as meaningless as they are up to this point._

" _However, I still desire to watch you in action, which is why I will help this one time. I wish to see what you will do with the information I will provide for you. Tomorrow night is when Operation Dread commences. There is a cold front moving down from Canada and it will encounter the warmer air currents of the Atlantic, creating a meteorological phenomenon. In essence, it will prevent all the fear toxin from leaving Gotham but in turn increase the concentration of fear toxin per square foot. A perfect storm of terror, I think you would agree. As to how this will be accomplished, let me say that Black Mask has always been a bit military in his thinking. He likes violence, he likes making a scene. Put those pieces together and you'll be closer to stopping him."_

Military? Violence. Batman did not like the idea of that. However, it did give him something to work with. "Zatanna," he barked into his comm. link. "I need you to look into any recent activities involving the military. Check for shipment movements, stolen equipment, anything."

Though Zatanna responded in the affirmative, Batman ignored her reply. Strange was still talking.

" _Oh, lest I forget. I'll give you one more thing. Did you know that Black Mask has an interest in the asylum? That was how I managed to involve myself in the Society. I can give Black Mask access to the one thing that no one in the city can. He has quite a grudge with a certain guest here, to be more specific, the Joker. As he has told me, once Gotham belongs to him, Black Mask plans to settle a score with my patient. Can you guess who he is? You should as you saved his life once, and from the Joker no less. Having trouble still? Then allow me to tell you. Roman Sionis. Have I refreshed your memory? Good, then you'll know what to expect."_

Batman clenched his jaw tightly. He remembered Sionis alright; he remembered pulling the man out of a trap and then had to knock him out to prevent him from causing even more trouble when the last thing anyone needed was a tough guy trying to shoot a mad clown. So this whole thing was just another part of the Joker's legacy, even if it was an unintended one. No wonder there were so many similarities between the Great Gotham Fire and Halloween 2.0.

To add to that, the last time he recalled hearing the Sionis name was when Andrea had stopped by the manor. Carl Beaumont had been friends with Charles Sionis and no doubt used him to get out of Gotham. Was it possible Andrea and Roman had kept that connection alive after Charles' death? Considering his suspicions, that was becoming more and more likely despite Strange's claim to inspiring that move.

" _I am not going to be giving away anything else. As I said, I want to see what you will do. Do not get me wrong, I want for you to succeed. There is only one man in this world who will be the one to defeat you, and that is I, Professor Hugo Strange. Good luck, Batman. You will need it._

" _This message will now self-destruct in five...four…"_

Eyes wide, Batman darted for the door, leaping through the doorway and landing hard on the floor. _"...three…two..."_ Grabbing the end of his cape, he pulled it over his body, using it as a shield for the the expected heat and flames.

" _...one…"_

A thunderous roar rang out as Strange's office was engulfed in flames. The explosion blasted out through the doorway, bathing the Dark Knight in flames and heat. Teeth gritted, he weathered the blast until he felt the heat die down. Slowly pulling his cape away, all he saw was the black scorch mark that had become Strange's office. The doorframe was no more, obliterated in the explosion, which left an even larger opening. The walls, floor, and ceiling were marked black by the flames, showing where the fires had reached.

Unfortunately, if there were any other clues left by Strange, they were gone now. He was lost to the wind, which made him less of a priority for now. Standing up, Batman began stalking down the corridor. No doubt the night shift had felt and heard the explosion and were sending people to investigation. It would be best if he wasn't here when they arrived.

* * *

Author's Note: It was only after writing this chapter that it occurred to me the significance of it. The primary villain of this story hasn't been the Phantasm or Black Mask, but Hugo Strange this entire time. Though I can't speak for ShadowMajin, I know I was caught off guard by the revelation. Hadn't intended for it to go this way, but hey, makes for a good twist, doesn't it? And of course, Strange has fled to fight another day. Batman has more important things to be concerned about, Operation Dread in particular. On a side note, the interrogation of Crane is based on one in the comics, specifically in the _Heart of Hush_ storyline. The toilet, the electrocution, a certain smiling spectator, those were all used here. Maybe it makes Crane a bit pathetic in the end, but what would you expect to see if electricity is involved? Still, a very shocking chapter in the end.


	25. Operation Dread

Operation Dread

This night was a long time in coming. After months of planning, recruiting, and...borrowing, Operation Dread was ready to begin at last. Black Mask had had his False Face Society working nonstop to get his fleet of helicopters set up and fitted out with their very special cargo.

Said cargo was being placed inside missiles specially made to not only hold Crane's fear toxin, but to disperse it into the open air in its gas form. From what he had heard from his scientist guys, that hadn't been easy to do. A lot of science mumbo jumbo that he didn't really care about was involved. All that really mattered was that the missile did what it was supposed to.

If they didn't, there were going to be some dead people.

He strolled throughout his little hideout, keeping an eye out as he observed the last modifications being made. He didn't exactly know or understood what these modifications were, just that they needed to be done. These missiles weren't your standard ones either. Plus, he wanted these helicopters to hold more than your standard number of missiles. No sense having to have them come back constantly to reload and risk giving this location away.

Damn, it had been busy around lately. So much so he hadn't been able to pay attention to the news and what all else was out there. Probably more of the same stuff, though there might still be panic about good ol' Halloween 2.0. Maybe he would check that stuff out later, when Operation Dread had succeeded and given him what he wanted.

Glancing at his watch, he looked up the time and knew that at this point, he was only stalling. This was the big night. Everything was in his favor, if Elephant Man was to be believed. Speaking of which, he hadn't seen that guy in a while. Did that shrink think he had better places to be or something? Whatever, this place was going to be the safest place in Gotham soon enough. If he was still out there when the show began, it wasn't his problem.

"Alright, boys, let's get this party started!" he called out. "Operation Dread is a go! Get those pilots into our delivery boys and spread the message!"

From the corner of his eye that wasn't obstructed by his mask, he could see said pilots were strolling out, followed by other masked men who would be hitching rides with them. The pilots wouldn't be masked because they needed to be able to see so that they could operate these things. Everyone else, though, mask on or suffer the consequences.

Besides, the tagalongs weren't just going to be riding along for the fun of it. Rockets and rocket launchers were also loaded up into these flying babies of his, all of them outfitted with that fear toxin too. Hey, it was the boy scouts' motto: be prepared.

Oh yeah. They were prepared already.

"You all know what you need to do, I don't have to hold your hands and show you what to do. If there's any doubt that Gotham belongs to the False Face Society, we're about to bomb that back to the stone age," he added, giving a dark chuckle as the first rotators began to spin.

* * *

It wasn't uncommon for a Gothamite to look up in the sky and see a helicopter. Either it was the police or Starflight taking someone to any of the hospitals in the city. When Gotham had been at it worse during the reign of Falcone and his kind, a night full of helicopter blades chopping through the night was something you fell asleep to.

Summing it up, no one paid attention as the noisy aircraft thundered through the sky. No one paid attention or took notice that there were more than just a few humming their way between the buildings. Some looked up in annoyance at how close they were, helicopters typically flew higher than these, yet this did not even give a single ounce of fear.

Thus no one paid attention when the first missile was fired.

Everyone did notice when the missile landed in the middle of traffic and detonated. Everyone did notice when an almost white-colored gas filled the streets. Everyone began to panic, believing that they were caught in the middle of a terrorist attack.

Then the fear toxin began its work.

A chemical attack on American soil, unthinkable. This only happened overseas, in places like the Middle East or Africa. No one would suspect that this gaseous agent wasn't a nerve toxin designed with the purpose of killing in the most horrible ways imaginable. No one could be prepared when those who were exposed to it began to scream, hands reaching to grab or attack things that _weren't there_.

Nor was anyone prepared for the second missile to strike, fired directly into the fleeing crowd this time.

Now it was open season. With their element of surprise now gone, Black Mask's delivery boys began to fire more liberally. Spreading their attack out from downtown Gotham, they systematically fired at targets in which the fleeing residents were heading, boxing them in with the terrifying toxin.

Inside the helicopters, False Facers hooted and hollered, jeering at the panic they were creating. Then they began helping, unpacking their rocket launchers and firing into the city. The rockets didn't hit anything, detonating in the air above the panicking citizens and exposing them more.

Naturally, this all attracted the attention of the police. While arriving near the epicenter of this unprecedented attack, officers yelled into their radios, requesting back up while demanding to know what the white smoke in front of them was.

Reluctantly and hesitantly, they emerged from their cars only to become victims themselves. This would make a bad situation even worse as unlike many of the panicking citizens, these police officers were armed and suddenly had less of an inhibition to use their more lethal weapons.

It wouldn't be long for gunfire to mix in with the screams of terror.

News of the assault was slow to spread as news outlets sent their reporters in only for them too to fall under the fear toxin's sway. When they couldn't update on the developing situation, they began sending in their helicopters, their cameras catching sight of the streets of Gotham filled with the white-colored, aerosol poison, wisping around the towering buildings in an ominous display.

Thanks to what little information that was being broadcasted, certain vigilantes were made aware of Operation Dread's closing grip on the city. From their Birdcage, the Birds of Prey rode out into the terrorized city, heading for a destination only they knew of. From their homes, the self-styled Batclan snuck out in their costumes, homemade air filters strapped to their faces.

And from atop Wayne Tower, the team of Batman and Zatanna arrived, grim and ready to save their city from tearing itself apart.

* * *

The buzz of spinning helicopter propellers filled the night, the occasional hissing of missiles rocketing through the air the only break in the constant drone. On top of Wayne Tower, Zatanna could see each and every one, from the hovering aircraft to the flying rockets and the inevitable cloud of gas enveloping everything once it was released.

Beside her, the dark-haired woman could sense the anxiety and anger radiating off of Bruce. She could hear the leather of his gloves protesting as he clenched his fists tightly. Every single missile was like an affront to him.

Zatanna wasn't all that pleased about the whole thing either. Lowlifes were actually attacking people with an agent that made them live their worst fears. What kind of people did that? Forget the crazy madman who came up with the idea, she wanted to know who the punks and goons were that thought it was an okay thing to do. There had to be something wrong with them too.

"Zatanna," Bruce suddenly spoke, breaking her out of her dark thoughts. "We need to stop the helicopters."

That...was pretty obvious. Still, the magician kept silent as she awaited the dark-clad man's plan. He didn't speak unless he had a damn good reason for it and Lord knows that current reason had better be a plan to stop this madness.

"If I can board them, I should be able to take them out," he continued, something that made Zatanna frown.

"What about the missiles?" she questioned. If Bruce thought he could get on each aircraft and take them out without more missiles being fired, then he was deluding himself.

"That's where I need you," he replied. "I need you to stop as many as you can. I don't care how you do it, just make sure no more of Crane's toxin is unleashed."

That sounded a lot better. "Consider it done," she responded. "Just be careful out there, alright?"

Bruce tore his sights from the scene before them, looking to her from behind his white lens. The closest thing he had to a comforting smile appeared on his lips, something that made a weak smile appear on Zatanna's in response. "I will," he told her.

Then he turned away and leapt off the building, arms extending out from his sides as he began to drop to the ground. A moment later he grabbed his cape and it went into its glider mode, allowing him to fly off into the night. Watching the dark shape move away from her, Zatanna hoped this wouldn't be a repeat of the last time he had left her.

Wait, what was she thinking? Of course it would be different! She was here! And she knew magic! No way was she finding another empty cowl tonight.

First thing's first though, she had to knock those missiles out of the sky. Taking a deep breath and closing her eyes, Zatanna began to gather every bit of magick she could summon, allow the power to well up inside of her and soon encompass her. She could feel her body begin to heat up, her fingertips tingling with power. The magician's dark hair began to dance behind her head, raising and falling like a wave over and over, the only thing keeping it from going over her head was the top hat she wore.

Then Zatanna opened eyes, a bright white light shining out and making her iris disappear matching the color of her mask's lens. A white aura began to envelop her, lifting her off of Wayne Tower until she hovered over it.

Here it was, the Mistress of Magic at full power.

She heard a missile fired then, seeing it flying through the air in front of her. Holding a hand out to it, Zatanna chanted, "Elissim egnahc mrof."

One moment the missile was rocketing through the air, the next it burst into a flock of doves, the birds changing course instantly before flapping away.

Looking to her left, Zatanna saw another missile and raised her other hand at it. "Egnahc," was all she bothered to say before the rocket lost its solid shape, taking on a blue color before it lost it shape and fell apart into raining water.

Over and over Zatanna did this, pointing her hand at a missile and unleashing her magickal energies at it, changing into a much more harmless from. Everything from a giant paper plane, a bottle rocket, to confetti she used. She even flat out detonated one, destroying it in a ball of fire which incinerated the fear gas inside.

And that was only the beginning for her.

* * *

When he had come in that morning, the commissioner had found a box on his desk and he hadn't needed to be told what was in it. It appeared as if someone was trying to get back in his good graces or was hoping to act as quickly as possible to keep some semblance of order amongst the department once the False Face Society had made its move.

From a pragmatic standpoint, he would distribute the antidote to this fear toxin in the immediate precinct. If what the vigilante had predicted came to pass, he hoped that more was on the way to inoculate other precincts.

It was almost too easy getting the department to take the antidote. Using the excuse of flu season had been chosen at the spur of the moment, and it had gotten many officers, both ranked and unranked. There were holdouts from those who had never had a shot before or had claimed to have gotten the flu from a vaccination. He had to pull rank on those.

He was very glad he had. He hadn't expected that very night to be the date of the False Face Society's attack. Damn it, with only the majority of one precinct inoculated, the police force was going to be undermanned. The best he could do was order gas masks and air filters on every officer he could. The first responders were already arriving and from the noise on the radio, it was getting really bad.

Now, getting the officers to wear gas masks wasn't hard. Strange white smoke in the middle of the city? Could be a chemical attack. Everyone was suddenly eager to have one.

This was almost starting to feel familiar. Big crises were beginning to become a norm in this city, and he didn't like it. Regardless, he was going to be out there with everyone else, trying to maintain some kind of order in a city rapidly falling into fearful chaos.

"Start blocking off the streets, try to make sure we keep this thing contained," he ordered to those closest to him. Sarah was relaying that order into her radio, commanding units to start the roadblocks. He could see Bullock already taken off to create a roadblock himself. From the corner of his eyes, he spotted Montoya putting her investigation on hold to help out as well. These were just a few of those who were getting into the action and he could feel more proud at how efficient they were being about this as copters flew overhead..

Whether this was good or bad, he couldn't rightly say.

"I want roadblocks all on Chelsey, if that hasn't been overrun yet," he continued as he climbed into the passenger seat of Sarah's car. "Also, 22nd Street. Do Martin Luther in the north while you're at it." He frowned as he struggled to think where else. The sounds of helicopter propellers were not helping yet.

"Where else, Commissioner?" Sarah half-asked, half-demanded as she closed the driver side door, radio receiver still in hand.

Where else, Jim? "Try Mayflower. If not, get to Anderson. Make sure there's roadblocks at every intersection you...can...what are they doing?" From behind the windshield, he could see a helicopter hovering by, not really going anywhere. What was it doing there and why wasn't it...wait, that didn't look like one of theirs.

What the hell was going on?

The helicopter fired a missile, Gordon's eyes widening in shock. "Get down!" he roared as he pulled Sarah down and try to cover her with his upper body.

He heard a loud crash and what sounded like a muffled explosion. However, not even their car shook from any shockwave. This wasn't like any explosion he had ever experienced. Peeking up, he could see the entrance to the station was torn open, but other than that nothing but white smoke and…

Oh dear God.

They were attacking from the sky! The False Face Society was attacking the city with helicopters armed with this poison! Seeing rockets being fired at them, only to detonate in midair and release more of it confirmed it. He could see patrol cars swerving about, as if expecting to get hit by the rockets. A couple crashed as their vision was obscured.

"Call everyone. Tell them to try and take those things out," he told Sarah as he pushed off of her and let the lieutenant sit up. "I want our boys up in the air too. Tell them that…" he paused for a second, arguing with himself if this was the right thing before finishing, "lethal force is authorized. Take down any aircraft that isn't ours and get someone to tell the media to pull their guys out of there."

"Got it," Sarah nodded, understanding the enormity of what he was telling her.

This was not the time to be second guessing, he told himself. He needed to do what was best for Gotham and what was best was to stop those helicopters from spreading more of that fear toxin. Roadblocks would be useless against something that could fly over them.

And if Batman wanted to save some lives out there, he needed to be quick.

* * *

The roar of the motorcycle engine filled Huntress' ears, the buildings blurring around her as she raced through the streets. Black Canary was driving the other bike, Katana seated behind her as they hauled butt.

It had taken too damn long for the fat slob of a pig to finally give the three women something useful. Between his disgusting innuendos and mad ravings, he had mentioned a mill where his boss was holed up. Further interrogation and a hell of a lot less patience with the masochistic sicko gave them a steel mill.

And there was only one the purple-clad vigilante could come up with that was within the city limits.

Unfortunately, despite this lead, they were now racing through the streets with what was best described as gunships flying all over the city, launching missiles at anything and everything. Even now, over her motorcycle's engine and the screaming of wind as the air rushed by her ear and caused her hair to whip out behind her, Huntress could pick out the dull beating sounds of helicopter blades rotating over and over, coupled with the shrieks of fired missiles darting about until they exploded.

Leaning to a side of her bike, Huntress made a right at an intersection, BC and Katana following her lead. Straightening out, the dark-haired woman mentally went over their route. There were a couple more turns, but they would get to the steel mill in a few minutes. Hopefully they'd get there with the man responsible for all this carnage still around.

And when she found him, she was putting a specially-saved bolt in the asshole.

That was when a missile went sailing over her head, heading down the street to what looked like an apartment complex up ahead. Eyes wide, Huntress was helpless as she watched the missile closed in on its intended target, ready decimate in the blink of an eye.

Of course, that's when things got weird.

Out of nowhere, instead of exploding into a ball of fire and smoke, the missile just came apart, becoming a flock of birds that at first continued on its path before flying off and away. Blinking her eyes, Huntress had to wonder just what the hell had happened.

" _Did you see that?!"_ Black Canary shouted through the comm. device in the dark-haired woman's ear. _"What the hell was that?!"_

"A freakin' miracle," Huntress immediately muttered. And honestly, that wasn't too far off. When did deadly missiles ever become a bunch of pigeons that decided to fly their feathered butts out of there? Never, that's when. Then again, this was Gotham and strange things had been known to happen—like a giant bat terrorizing the criminal underworld.

Deciding to count her blessings, Huntress then replied back over the comm. link, "I don't know and I really don't care. Let's just get to the steel mill and put an end to this."

" _Aye, aye, H."_

Leaning again, this time to her left, she made the turn, which was immediately followed by another right. That should be all the turns they needed to make and as it turned out it would be. Further down the street was what was best described as a factory, one with a big freaking metal gate in front of it. And high on the building's face was its name: Sionis Steel Mill.

That's right, they were going after a Sionis property. From her own family roots, that name put her on edge. The Sionis Family was practically a made family. Their offspring were christened at birth into the business and were considered untouchable. That was until the Bat showed up and began making business hard on the Mob. It didn't help matters when Charles Sionis bit the big one and passed the family over to his son, Roman, who was clearly all bluster and no brains. The Sionis name suffered for it until Roman went underground.

Seemed as if they knew where he was hiding now. That is, if he and Black Mask were one and the same.

"BC, you know what to do," Huntress suddenly said into her mike.

" _On it,"_ the blonde replied before she poured on more speed, pulling ahead of the purple-clad vigilante, who pulled in right behind her.

Things were about to get noisy.

The moment they were within spitting distance, Black Canary opened her mouth and began to scream. The ear-piercing cry slammed right into the gate, the metal hinges protesting loudly before they were ripped apart and the gates went flying through the air. It was almost mesmerizing to watch the gates flip through the air until they crashed against the face of the steel mill, a loud _bang!_ ringing out from the collision. An instant later, the Birds of Prey blasted into the plaza behind the walls and in front of the front doors.

The yard was relatively empty save for the parked trucks nearby. That wasn't too unexpected, though perhaps there were a few more that shouldn't be there, what with the plant not producing as much steel as it used to.

However, that all changed when the front doors were thrown open and four men with machine guns poured out. Well, well, if that wasn't an invitation if Huntress ever saw one.

It seemed Black Canary had the same thought as she raced right for the doors, revving her engine louder as twisted the accelerator. At the same time, Katana pulled out her sword and began leaning towards her right, fully intent on taking out the men on that side. That just left the ones on the left…

Letting go of one of her handles, Huntress reached for her belt and pulled out a couple H-shaped shuriken. Throwing her arm out, she sent the projectiles flying, watching them spin towards their intended targets. One of the shuriken connected with a goon's forehead, snapping his head back and bashing the back of his skull against the door, knocking him out. The other one collided with the other thug's hand, causing him to drop his gun as he let out a pained cry.

That was when BC and Katana reached them. Timing it damn near perfectly, both women sent out an attack, Black Canary shooting out a hand and slamming her palm against the disarmed man, knocking him clear off his feet and to the ground while Katana slashed out with her sword. In the instant that followed, after the two had passed the guards, the barrels of the machine guns of the two still-standing men fell off, along with a good portion of the guns' body. Dumbly, the two men stared at their useless weapons.

Huntress didn't even bother hitting them, merely darting right by them. Just her sudden passage caused them both to jump back, one of which losing his balance and falling clumsily to the ground.

And they were in. Hooray.

* * *

Though you couldn't see it, Black Mask was scowling. His mask covered it so that no one could see it. He would have to let everyone know that he wasn't happy by letting them hear his anger instead.

You see, he had just gotten comfortable, flipping through the news channels as reporters tried stupidly to cover Operation Dread only to get caught up in it themselves. Everyone was trying to get the scoop on this thing but it was too damn hilarious watching them all fail. It wasn't getting old watching such and such reporter start screaming about his or her darkest fear. He had to TiVo the one who tried to rip her own skin off because "spiders" were crawling all over her.

So yeah, things were getting really fun when someone had to crash his little party, and on motorcycles no less.

"What the hell are you doing standing there?" he snapped at the idiot who was still in the doorway to his office, waiting on him like he couldn't think for himself. "Get yourself a gun and pump whoever it is who's stupid enough to come here full of lead."

A thought occurred to him and he had to yell at moron over there before he could get too far. "Keep one of them alive. I want to find out how they knew to come here."

He swore to God, someone was going to die if he found out anyone had talked. No one should know that this was where he had headquartered the False Face Society. The only way someone would come here is if they were told. As he heard the sounds of gunfire and violence, he knew that that had to be the answer. This wasn't some accident where someone just happened to stumble on them.

Arming himself with an assault rifle in one arm and a grenade launcher in the other, he made sure he was locked and loaded before storming out of his office. Someone needed to make sure that the fear toxin wasn't hit. His delivery boys out there were due to come back for reloading any minute now.

There had better be something for them to reload.

* * *

From atop one of the taller buildings in the city, Andrea Beaumont watched as Black Mask's plans were put into effect. In her hands, she gripped the helm of the Phantasm instead of wearing it as she wanted to see this with her own eyes and not through...the other's.

She couldn't help but think that in some way, she was responsible for this. She had let herself fall for the sweet talk that Sionis had spoken to her, promises of gaining revenge against the men who had ruined her life and taken away a future that she would never have. She had listened and she had heeded. Valestra and his cronies, they had to pay for what they did to her.

If only her father hadn't gotten involved with those bastards. If only he hadn't been so desperate to provide for her that he would _embezzle_ from the mob. If only...if only...if only Valestra had been satisfied when her father finally paid him back. If only he hadn't wanted interest compounded in blood.

She still remembered it, even now as Gotham fell before Sionis' madness. Returning home after taking care of some errands, carrying a bag of groceries as she entered their home away from home. This place was as big as they one they had left in America, but it wasn't the same. She knew there was no way they could go back and that was the way it had to be. She wasn't happy with it, but what could she do?

The front door had been unlocked; she had found that strange but didn't think much of it. It was only as she was passing the opened door to her father's study, and the sight within captured her attention that…

Her screams still echoed in her head.

That was two years ago. In that time she had begun to train herself, to ready herself for when she came back and made those self-serving bastards pay their own interests. Compounded in blood as well. She should have been suspicious when Sionis had sent a representative of his to speak with her. She should have been suspicious when the offer came to help her get the revenge she craved. She should have been suspicious when that shrink began suggesting that she adopt a persona to aid her when she finally hunted and killed them once and for all.

Most of all, she should have known she was being used. She should have known that Sionis only wanted to get rid of some guys he had no more use for. That he would try to get rid of her when he was finished with it.

Well, now it was time for Sionis, or Black Mask as he called himself, to pay his debts. These too were also compounded in blood.

Closing her eyes, she slipped the Phantasm's helm on and let herself fade, becoming more impartial, simmering in anger, and most of all genderless. It was an angel of death that knew no limits or boundaries.

As it's cape settled around it, it bent down to pick up its bladed hand and fit it over the slim hand it bore. Assemble now complete, the Phantasm cared not for the happenings in Gotham now. None of it was its problem. Its business was more important.

Spying a helicopter making its way in its direction, the Phantasm went on the move. It knew it was going to need some kind of transport to reach its former employer. Besides, a dramatic entrance would bring Black Mask to it and its retribution.

* * *

The wind screamed around Batman as he glided through the air. Angling his body, he swept through the night, aiming right for a helicopter that was about to reach an intersecting point with him. The speed of the aircraft ensured it would reach the point first and then pull away before the vigilante ever arrived, but that was okay. He just needed to get as close as possible.

The constant beating of the helicopter's blades filled his ears as the dark-clad man drew near. Feeling it was now or never, Batman let go of the cape glider with his right hand and reached for his grapple at the back of his belt. Retrieving it, he pointed it right at the aircraft and fired the claw, watching it zip through the air and thankfully making contact with a loud clang. Simultaneously he released his cape with his other hand, allow the cape to go limp behind him, and hit the retraction button. He was then pulled quickly through the air in the next second, feeling the strain on his arms as his line went taut and the helicopter began to pull away.

The moment he was within arm's reach, Batman lashed out with an arm, wrapping it around the helicopter's landing skid and immediately swinging a leg up to help pull himself onto the vehicle. Deactivating the grapple claw, he reholstered it in its place on his belt before he heaved the rest of his body up on the metal skid.

Alright, now that he was on the helicopter, he needed to get in it. Unfortunately, the door to the aircraft was closed. Reaching up with one hand, he carefully pushed himself up until he was high enough to snag the door's handle with the extended appendage. Sure he had a good hold, he maneuvered himself up until he was standing with his feet on the landing skid, and both hands on the helicopter, one on the door handle and the other on an extended handle designed for passengers standing outside of the craft. With a grunt, the vigilante pulled hard and away on the door handle, pulling the sliding door open.

With a step, the dark-clad man was entering the vehicle, along with the added bonus of removing the battering winds that had been beating on his body. With a glance to the pilot, Batman saw the aircraft's sole passenger had jerked his head over to look at him before scrambling to pull out his sidearm. With practiced ease, Batman had a bat-shaped shuriken in his hand by the time the False Facer had pulled out his weapon and was turning in his seat to aim at him.

Lashing out with his arm, the vigilante sent the projectile flying through the air, the shuriken hitting the man right on his forehead, the mask doing nothing to protect the skull. The force of the attack also caused the man to jerk backwards and the back of his head hit the windshield of the helicopter, causing the glass to crack from the blow. Hmm, seemed the False Facer had unbuckled himself from his seat. Too bad for him.

Seeing as the only other passenger was out, that only left the pilot. Two strides brought the vigilante right up behind the man, a hand grabbing onto the seat for stability as Batman reached with his other hand to grab the pilot by his black jumpsuit. "Put us down!" he shouted as he scowled at the pilot's helmet.

Much to the man's credit, he refused. Unfortunately, due to the sound of the helicopter, Batman couldn't make out what the pilot yelled back, but it definitely rhymed with, "Buck Two."

Prick.

That was okay though; Batman knew how to deal with these situations. Letting go of the pilot, he reached to his belt and pulled out a small canister, bright, bolded, yellow letters proclaiming it to be MACE. Purposefully shoving the canister in front of the pilot's face so he could see the letters, the vigilante then popped the top, and forced it right underneath the man's visor. Though it was rather pointless to say this considering the pilot had a helmet and headphones on, Batman nonetheless felt compelled to tell the man exactly what situation he was in. "This is mace! One spray in your eyes will blind you!" he shouted as loud as he could. "Think you can fly this thing while your eyeballs are burning out of your skull?"

"You're crazy!" the pilot screamed, panic evident in his tone. Good. "You'll kill us all!"

"Correction, _you'll_ die! I can jump out of this aircraft safely! Care to see if you will?"

It took a matter of three full seconds before the pilot jerked on the cyclic stick, the helicopter beginning to descend. Batman waited patiently until the aircraft landed on the roof of a building. The moment he felt a jolt as the landing skids touched down, the vigilante pulled his hand with the mace back. This caused the pilot to relax for the moment it took Batman to toss the canister to his other hand and then promptly pull his arm back before shooting it out. Fingers curled and palm jutting out, Batman slammed his hand into the side of the pilot's head and forced him to ram the opposite side up against the side window. Immediately, the man fell limp as the glass cracked from the force of the crash.

There, that accounted for the two men; now he had to make sure the helicopter was firmly out of commission. Making sure to turn off the engines and seeing all the lights go off on the dashboard, Batman then crossed his right arm over his chest before swinging it, digging his triangle blades into the panel and dragging them through it. The sharp shriek of tearing metal filled his ears as sparks leapt out of the gaping wounds he left in the dashboard. Pulling his arm back he then did the same to the co-pilot's side, causing the same damage and ensuring no more harm would be done by this helicopter.

His worked finished, Batman turned around and strode out of the helicopter, dropping out of the open side door and landing on the rooftop. Long strides carried him to the roof's edge, where he began scanning the sky for the next helicopter.

As luck would have it, he spotted one heading his way, following the street from his right and heading left. Pulling out his grapple, he readied it as he aimed it out in front of him. The moment the aircraft reached him, he'd fire and be boarding it moment—

Wait a second, what was that?

Eyes narrowing, something dark and shadowy suddenly leapt onto the side of the helicopter and disappeared inside of it. There was only one person that could be and—though it was a very inopportune time—that person also needed to be stopped.

It was time to put the Phantasm down once and for all.


	26. Whatever It Takes

Whatever It Takes

Magic was a wondrous thing. It made the impossible possible with just the right words. Too bad it guzzled energy like a thirsty camel.

The bright aura had left Zatanna, along with leaving her grounded on top of Wayne Tower. Little by little, each and every missile she had rendered inert had sapped her of her strength and right now she was rather sweaty, fatigued, and she was pretty sure her B.O. was kickin'. It was a good thing she was all by herself up here, otherwise she'd be feeling a little embarrassed at the moment.

Unfortunately, she wasn't getting the help she thought she needed to. Despite Bruce taking off to stop the helicopters, he really hadn't stopped that many. It was annoying to the magician, especially when she could have just spent her mystical energies on the helicopters themselves. Then again, she'd have to worry about the pilots and that would just be another drain on her.

 _You know, anytime you're ready, I'd appreciate if you held up your end of the bargain, Bruce. Especially if it's right now!_

Hearing yet another whooshing of a flying missile, Zatanna gestured in the general direction, not even bothering to chant the words. The whooshing came to an abrupt halt as the missile transformed into...something, the dark-haired woman wasn't even sure anymore what she was changing everything into at this point. Her imagination had left the building a long time ago and she was far past the point of attempting to maintain some semblance of style.

 _C'mon, c'mon, what's next_ , Zatanna thought to herself as she concentrated on the city before her, her ears listening for that telltale sign of launching rockets. So far all she could hear with the breeze around her from moving air; the angry, scared honking of cars trying to escape the helicopter attacks; the growing sound of whirling propellers as…

 _Hold on, growing?_

Looking to her left and then her right, the magician found two helicopters approaching her, the one to her left rising towards her while the one on the right was already high above Wayne Tower. Immediately, the one on the right fired a couple missiles at the dark-haired woman, the familiar whooshing sound of firing rockets reaching her ears.

"Egnahc ot ekoms!" Zatanna shouted, the missiles instantly blowing up into a large, thick cloud of dark smoke. About then, another helicopter joined the fray, popping up behind the magician as its propeller rotated loudly.

However, unlike the first aircraft, this one began firing its machine guns at her, the sound of Hell unleashing itself filling the night's air. There was no time for her to react outside of throwing every last shielding spell she had, a transparent, green field appearing all around the woman. An instant later, she could feel the force of each bullet ramming into her shield, an indescribable strain hitting Zatanna and causing her to grit her teeth as she rode through the barrage.

Oh, this sucked so much.

"Okay, you can stop trying to make swiss cheese out of me," Zatanna muttered to herself. Geez, this was such a pain. Because she had to concentrate so much on the raging Gatling gun, it was taking her much longer to prepare another spell to stop the gunfire.

And unfortunately, she didn't get a chance as the other two helicopters came to a stop on either side of her, hovering in midair. Eyeing them out of her eyes, she could practically see the pilots smirking as they prepared to fire their own machine guns at her.

This was not going to end well.

Suddenly, something small and fast flashed across her vision. Zatanna wasn't sure what it was, but she could tell there was a lot of them. And those somethings hit the windshields of all the helicopter, instinctively causing the pilots to pull off of the machine and subsequently end the machine gun fire. Bright flashes followed after, making the magician think of firecrackers for some reason.

The next thing Zatanna knew, those Batclan kids suddenly appeared on the roof, racing towards her. The taller one—Nightwing, she thought his name was—was in the lead and thus the first to reach her, damn near tackling her as he wrapped his arms around her and hauled her off the roof.

Oh Hell no! She was a one-man woman and she did not take kindly to being touched by other men that she didn't want to be touched by! Even one with a nice body like this guy. Who maybe in a different lifetime wouldn't have minded such bodily contact. Okay, she needed to stop admiring this guy's bod and focus on the really important part.

That was namely Nightwing jumping off of Wayne Tower with her pressed right against him.

"What the Hell are you doing?!" Zatanna shouted at the young man, noticing Batgirl and Robin leaping right after them.

"No thanks is necessary!" Nightwing yelled back over the rushing wind around them. "We're the cavalry and we're getting you out of there!"

"That's nice and all, but how are you planning on doing that?"

"By hoping my grapple line can hold two people!"

 _Idiot,_ Zatanna groused. No wonder Bruce wanted them off the streets, especially when their thinking didn't extend beyond the immediate danger—namely thinking of an actual exit strategy. It looked as if she was going to have bail out not only herself, but these kids as well.

Gathering her magickal energies, Zatanna cast them around their falling group, even as the other three pulled out their swinging cables. "Tropelet su lla ot ytefas!"

A cloud of smoke suddenly erupted around them and the next thing Zatanna knew, they were crashing right on top of a roof, Nightwing landing right on top of her and then bouncing right off a moment later. This knocked the wind out of the magician as she gasped out all the air in her lungs. A short distance away, Batgirl and Robin landed face first on the rocky gravel, but unlike their comrade, they didn't bounce.

"Ohhhh, geez," Robin groaned out. "What happened?"

Sucking in as much air as she could, Zatanna tried to recover as much as she could before answering, "I teleported us to a roof. You're welcome."

"You might want to give us a warning first next time," she heard Nightwing respond somewhere behind her, which was currently above her head since she was still lying down. "We were about to swing away, you know."

 _And maybe you may not want to tell the Mistress of Magic that you have no idea what you're doing,_ Zatanna thought back, but didn't have the energy to actually say out loud. No need to shatter their fragile egos right now, not when there were death machines flying around.

It also didn't help that the building Zatanna had transported them all also happened to be a block away from Wayne Tower.

"Hey guys, I think we need to move," Batgirl spoke up then. "I can see those helicopters coming and they don't look happy."

Well, it looked like naptime was over. Forcing herself up, Zatanna asked the other three, "So what's your plan now?"

"Staying alive until we can take those helicopters out," Robin replied. "Which we're going to want to do right now."

The dark-haired woman repressed the urge to roll her eyes, even as she began running with the three over the rooftop. It seemed she was going to have to think of a decent plan for all of them

* * *

With the element of surprise, taking the first man out had been simple. As the False Facer was reloading his rocket launcher, he wasn't paying attention to the opening in front of him. It was so easy to grab him by the front of his jacket and pull him out of the helicopter, his screams drowned out by the helicopter propellers above.

Pulling itself in, the Phantasm made quick work on the second man, yanking him down onto his back and stabbing him in the throat. His eyes bulged in surprise before the pupils began to dilate. Two down, now for the pilot.

Because the pilot was too busy flying and making some commentary on the people in the streets, his inattention proved costly as the Phantasm placed its bladed hand against his throat.

"Autopilot," the ghostly killer ordered.

The pilot swallowed, then tried an attempt at bravado. "You kill me, you have no one to fly this."

"Do I look like I care?" was the killer's retort, the blade pressing closer to his throat.

Swallowing, the man gave in. "Okay," he choked out. Slowly, he reached out and pressed a button, the helicopter's computer taking over and keeping them up in the air.

"Up," was the next order. It watched as the pilot unstrapped himself from his seat, keeping an eye on where his hands were at all times. "Move."

Cautiously, the pilot slid out of his seat, the Phantasm maneuvering around him while keeping its weapon on his neck, its other hand pressed against his back. It moved the man towards the helicopter's side door, the city filled with the gaseous toxin below.

"Don't kill me," the pilot requested.

"I won't," the Phantasm agreed, removing its bladed hand from the pilot's neck. The man breathed easier after that. "Gravity will," it added as it pushed the man forward with its other hand, shoving the pilot out of the helicopter to follow the fate of his fellow False Facer.

Taking a moment to rid the helicopter of the corpse, the Phantasm then took its seat when the pilot was formerly located. Scanning the controls, it deactivated the autopilot and began to turn the aircraft around. With everything that was occurring this night, no one was going to notice anything strange with this vehicle's new course.

To the northern part of the city, where it knew Black Mask was hiding out. That could be the only place. If it knew what the man behind the skull was like, it knew that Black Mask wasn't going to be too far from this mess. He'd want to be nearby but not too close, a front row seat without fear of his plans backfiring on him.

Time to change that.

It was thanks to the fact that the Phantasm was peering through the windshield that it noticed the reflection of movement in the polycarbonate glass. Had it missed one? No matter. Reaching out with its bladed hand, it reactivated the autopilot while making sure that it continued on its new course.

Then it swung its hand out and behind it, striking at this latest obstacle. Whoever it was that was in here pulled back, allowing the killer to leave its seat and to better resolve this business.

It didn't expect to see the Batman glaring back.

No more words. Not this time. This enemy didn't seem to get the hint that he was not wanted or needed here. Lunging forward, it stabbed with its arm, a move that Batman completely expected. The vigilante dodged to a side, using what little room he had to evade. The Phantasm allowed its momentum to carry its arm a little further before it stopped itself and brought its arm back, bending its elbow to jab the joint into its opponent's head.

Batman went with the blow, lessening its impact while putting himself behind it. Bending its other arm, the Phantasm swung its other elbow to try and prevent a very precarious situation from occurring.

To its frustration, Batman caught the elbow this time, but the Phantasm was moving twisting its waist while slicing at the vigilante once more. All the served to do was have Batman shove it away while leaning backwards to dodge the attack. The killer went with this, allowing some distance between the two. However, to its dismay, its opponent was between it and the pilot's seat.

"It's over," Batman growled.

"Not until I claim Sionis," the Phantasm retorted, raising its bladed hand threateningly.

"No. It ends now."

Not waiting for the specter to strike first, Batman went on the offensive. Thanks to the limited space of the helicopter, there was only so much the vigilante was able to do, so the punch was easy to predict. The Phantasm blocked with its left forearm, knocking the strike away and retaliating with another slash of its bladed hand.

Batman caught the weaponized hand, grasping at its lower arm turning the blade to a side, barely grazing his black-colored armor. Reaching out, the masked killer took hold of the other by his cape and pulled with all its might, struggling push forward with its lethal weapon.

The two costumed individuals grappled, one struggling to impale the one while the other fought to prevent it. With a grunt, Batman twisted the killer's right arm, and stabbed it against the metal wall beside him. Releasing the arm, the bat-themed fighter delivered a blow to the specter's stomach, the Phantasm giving an "oomph!" in surprise.

Pressing his advantage, Batman shoved the Phantasm backwards and onto its back. Bending a leg, the Phantasm landed a kick into the vigilante's chest, pushing away. Wrenching its bladed hand back to it, the killer pushed itself back onto its feet and raised the hand up only to ram it into the helicopter ceiling by accident.

One of Batman's legs swiped its feet from under it, causing the Phantasm to fall forward and almost landing on top of its opponent. Batman rolled out of the way, but had to stop quickly before he rolled himself out of the aircraft.

Pouncing on him, the Phantasm pressed its left lower arm against Batman's neck, held its right hand up before stabbing down with it. Once again, Batman caught it before he could be wounded but this time he was not in a position with any leverage to struggle with it. Millimeter by millimeter, the blade sank closer and closer to the opening in Batman's mask.

"You will interfere no longer," the Phantasm hissed out, emphasizing each word.

Pain blossomed in its side as a fist struck against its ribs once, twice, then three times. They were quick jabs, and after the third it could no longer maintain its position. The next thing it knew, it was rolled onto its back, a gloved hand pinning its bladed hand against the helicopter floor, an arm now pressed against its throat, and an angered vigilante hovering above.

"Give up, Andrea, it's over," Batman growled.

The Phantasm flinched at that name. He...he knew? He had figured it out? But how? No, now was not the time to hesitate. She...it could not...could not be denied this!

"Your father, he's not alive, is it?" Batman continued mercilessly. "He's dead. Otherwise you wouldn't be here, murdering those gangsters and now the False Facers. When does it end, Andrea? When you're done with Black Mask, who do you go after next?"

Those were questions that could not be given any thought to. The implications...no, must not give in to him!

"Would your father want this of you?" Batman pressed, his deep voice softening everso slightly. "Would he want you to kill in his name? Would he want you to stain your hands with the blood of those men?"

It mustn't...she couldn't...she had to…

"You've been used, changed into this by sick men. It doesn't have to be this way. You don't need to be Strange's puppet, a tool of the False Face Society. You have nothing to gain from any of this."

She was unable to help it, she was listening to him, hearing his every word. He was reaching her, conquering this creature that she was becoming—had become. Shedding light and tearing away what illusions she held, that were handed to her through that shrink's words.

How had she gotten here? How had it all come to this? Why…?

"Surrender. Turn yourself in," Batman told her. "I'll handle Sionis. He will get what's coming to him."

The name Sionis made everything clear. It knew what needed to be done.

It was fortunate that its leg was placed between those of the Dark Knight. While tt was more than likely he had adequate protection down there, there was still a way to take advantage of this position.

Bending its knee, it jabbed the joint upwards. Batman grunted, his grip on the killer lightening slightly. Kicking its lower leg and straightening the limb, the Phantasm forced its leg upward and into Batman's lower back. This had the effect of pushing the vigilante off and over the killer, slamming up against the back of the helicopter.

Rolling over and scrambling to its feet, the Phantasm hurried towards the pilot's seat, spying through the windshield the Sionis Steel Mill dead ahead. That's where it was going, to finish this thing—

The Phantasm jerked its head around and shot out a kick, catching Batman off guard at the last second and forcing him away. He wasn't going to be giving up. It would have to act fast then.

Reaching out with its gloved, left hand, it turned off the autopilot then snagged cyclic stick. Glancing back at the vigilante, it uttered, "Sionis dies tonight. Whatever it takes."

Jerking the steering device back, the Phantasm sent the helicopter into a descent, heading down towards the steel mill. There was a large window frame filled with opaque-colored glass high up alongside the building and that was the specter's target.

It ignored Batman's cry of "What are you doing?!" as the helicopter propellers began to scrape against the walls of the building.

* * *

The steel mill echoed with incessant gunfire, mainly because Sionis' men were shooting at anything and everything, whether it moved or not. Shortly after busting into the very first room, Huntress and the other Birds of Prey had to abandon their motorcycles and take cover behind the stacks of wood and metal crates that were piled around. Chips of wood and sparks flew everywhere as bullets pelted the makeshift covers.

Currently, Huntress was all by herself, Black Canary and Katana off in different parts of the room in their own attempts to subdue the shooters. The purple-clad vigilante wasn't sure how many men they had taken down, but it didn't seem like much since there wasn't any audible decrease in gunfire.

Facing the wooden crate she hid behind, the dark-haired woman held a H-shaped shuriken in either hand. She was low on the projectiles already, so she really needed to make these count. Considering she knew there were two gunmen approaching her from the other side, their machine guns making that familiar rat-tat-tat noise as they were fired, they were going to be her targets.

Arms crossed over her chest, Huntress took a deep breath before she shot up to stand, swinging her arms out in front of her as she threw the shuriken. The projectiles whirled through the air even as the thugs fired their tommy guns, right up into the H-shaped shuriken made contact with the guns and knocked them out of their grips.

Immediately, the flying pieces of lead came to a stop, which Huntress took advantage of as she dove onto the crate in front of her, rolling over her shoulders and down to her back and landing on the ground on the other side on her feet. Again she leapt forward, this time shooting her heads above her head to press down on the floor. This put her right in between the men, which allowed her to lash out her legs, quickly extending them to either side of her as she performed the splits. Both of her feet made contact with the goons' chests, knocking them off their feet as they cried out.

Letting her momentum carry her, Huntress quickly closed her legs so she could complete the flip, landing crouched on her feet. As it so happened, one of her shuriken stuck out of the cement floor in front of her, something she was quick to reach out and pull out with her left hand. Twisting her body to the right, she threw the H-shaped shuriken right at the head of the fallen thug, nailing him in the head and knocking him out. Pressing down on the ground with her legs, Huntress dove forward yet again, going into a roll that led her behind cover once more. That was just in time too as a gunman had caught sight of her stunt and began shooting.

Pressing her back against the now metal crate, the dark-haired woman pulled out her crossbow holding it at the ready as she tried to mentally guess where to shoot her bolt. Sure she could aim for the head, but that wasn't necessary...right now. Aiming for the gun would take a lot of accuracy that she couldn't take the time for. Maybe if she was lucky she would hit it or some other non-vital area.

Suddenly, a thug landed to her left, causing the vigilante to whip around and point her crossbow at him. The next moment, Black Canary landed right next to her, crouching down as she eyed the down goon before feeling satisfied that he was down for the count. "This is nuts, isn't it?!" she called out loudly over the gunfire.

"How many did you get?!" Huntress shouted back.

"That's my fifth! I'm telling ya, all this ducking and dodging and jumping is giving me a workout!"

"You're telling me! I got three confirmed down and one other that I'm not sure about!"

Suddenly there was a loud screech that echoed throughout the room. "I think that was Katana!" Huntress shouted again.

"Got her another one!" Black Canary agreed.

That was great and all, but this slow chipping away at Black Mask's men here was getting them nowhere. Having to dart for cover at every instant and planning every single move painstakingly was slowing them down to the point they were practically trapped in this room. They needed to change something or sooner or later, all three of them would wind up dead.

As powerful as BC's Canary Cry was, it left her too vulnerable for one of these punks to get a clear shot at her and Huntress wasn't going to risk that. There was nothing else in her utility belt that could take on this sort of crowd, the same going for the other ladies. It seemed they had bitten off a little more than they could chew.

And then the gunfire stopped.

"I know you're down there," an arrogant voice called out. "Come on out where I can see you."

Huntress and Black Canary shot questioning looks at each other before they moved to peek over the crates they hid behind. Towards the back of the room was the Manager's Office, which covered most of the roof and wall at the back of the room. A catwalk extended out from the hanging office and on it stood a man in a white suit, a black skull mask covering his head.

So, this was Black Mask.

"Come out, come out, wherever you are," Black Mask taunted them, lazily stepping to his right as he began walking down the catwalk. After a few steps, he began walking back the other way, all the while gazing out into the room. "Come on, little mice, I know you want to play. So let's... _play…_ "

It was because of this moving that Huntress noticed two things dangling from the man's hands. In his right hand was a large assault rifle; in his left, was what she could best describe as a grenade launcher. Black Mask had both weapons pointed to the floor, his hands wrapped around the handles with his trigger fingers resting on the triggers. He was ready to fire and probably didn't mind that he could kill everyone in the room. Goddamn sadist.

And that voice; she'd recognize it anywhere. The arrogance in it could only belong to Roman Sionis. She had had the "pleasure" of his company a handful of times, but she never forgot that damn voice of his.

"BC," Huntress whispered lowly. "I want you to get under him, alright? When you do, let him have it."

Black Canary knew exactly what she meant. "What are you going to do?" she whispered back.

"I'll distract him."

"And Katana?"

"Hope that she stays alive."

There was a moment's pause before the blonde gave a sharp nod. "Good luck."

Without answering, the dark-haired woman held her crossbow up by her head before she darted out into the open. Pointing her weapon right at Black Mask, she squeezed the trigger and fired a bolt right at him. Catching sight of it, the white-suited man stepped out of the way, allowing the arrow to hit the wall right behind him, sticking out of it as the tip imbedded itself into the sheetrock.

And then Black Mask raised his machine gun and opened fired. Once again, that hellacious roar rang out into the room as Huntress ran full out to her left. She could hear the concrete shatter behind her as the bullets pulverized it. Reaching another stack of crates, the purple-clad vigilante dove behind them, landing roughly on her side as she rolled onto her back.

Much to her horror, the crates did nothing to protect her as they ripped through the crates, pieces of metal flying out as the approaching carnage grew closer to her. Frantically, Huntress pushed hard on the floor, dragging herself away from the gunfire as fast as she could. She couldn't pause to reload her crossbow or do much of anything unless she wanted to end up looking like Swiss cheese.

 _Anytime now, BC._

And then the gunfire stopped, much to Huntress' confusion. "Fucking bitch!" he heard Black Mask shout, but this time it wasn't directed at her. This was followed by more machine gun fire, once more not being directed at the dark-haired woman.

Seeing as she was at the edge of her cover, Huntress chanced a peek around it. Like a freaking acrobat, Katana was springing from one pile of crates to another, flipping around madly as she dodged Black Mask's gun fire. A glance to the skull-masked man showed a bloodstain on the man's suit, right in his shoulder. Coincidentally, that's where a throwing star was sticking of, one of Katana's, Huntress thought.

"Quit moving you, fucking monkey!" Black Mask shouted in rage as he continued to fire. It was pretty obvious he was losing his patience with Katana as she continued to avoid his gunfire. Reaching his boiling point, he suddenly stopped firing before dropping the barrel of his assault rifle, raising his grenade launch up and pointing in the general direction of Katana. "Eat this, you chink!"

A whooshing sound filled Huntress' ears as a grenade fired from the weapon, flipping end over end towards the Asian woman. "Look out!" she shouted at her comrade, who dove out of sight of the purple-clad vigilante. An explosion erupted then, the force knocking her back even as she lie on the floor. A giant fireball was all she could see before it disappeared just as quickly, a cloud of black smoke covering everything.

"Katana!" Huntress yelled out as she rolled onto her stomach, pushing herself up into a crouched position. Faintly she wondered where the thugs were since they weren't firing their own weapons, but then again they probably all scrambled to safety the moment Black Mask showed. Right now she couldn't blame them since their boss was firing explosives now.

As each second passed, Huntress grew more frantic as she searched for her friend. Nothing, there wasn't a sign of the sword-wielding woman. Goddamn it! Fury filling her eyes, the dark-haired woman jerked her head to stare at Black Mask. That fucking bastard would pay, he'd pay! Forget this not-killing thing, this guy deserved one of her arrows between his eyes!

"Jump all you want, it ain't nothing my little friend here can't blow up," Black Mask crowed smugly. "Now, who's next—"

Suddenly, an ear-splitting scream rang out, causing Huntress to drop her empty crossbow as she firmly clamped her hands on top of her ears, not that it helped any. Through squinted eyes, Huntress looked at Black Mask, seeing the man collapsing onto his knees as he seemed to look right up at the roof. She wasn't sure if he was screaming too since it was being drowned out, but she liked to think he was.

The catwalk gave out then, collapsing right beneath the white-suited man and dropping him down to the floor. Black Canary's scream stopped then, presumably so she could get out of the way of the falling metal walkway. Even as her ears rang, Huntress was quick to reach down and pick up his crossbow with one hand, her other shooting to her belt to grab another bolt. Launching herself forward, the purple-clad woman raced towards where she thought Black Mask was, loading her weapon with practiced ease.

And then the machine gun fire started again. Reaching the scene, Huntress saw Black Mask crouching on the ground, firing his assault rifle somewhere to her right. There wasn't any sight of Black Canary, so she must have taken cover somewhere. That was alright though; this gave the dark-haired woman a very opportune chance.

Aiming her crossbow, Huntress didn't hesitate as she pulled the trigger. The bolt flew through the air swiftly, striking Black Mask right on the temple. However, instead of piercing his skull, the arrow bounced off, much to her surprise. This stopped the man's gunfire as he flinched from the small collision. Whipping his head around, he saw her and immediately twisted his body around to point his grenade launcher at her. "Big mistake, cunt," he growled at her.

Oh yeah, big mistake. Damn it, she hadn't expected his damn mask to be reinforced. This wasn't going to end—

Suddenly, a flash of metal caught her eye and everything seemed to go still. A moment passed before the barrel of the grenade launcher shifted and then fell off, along with a part of the weapon's body. Flickering her eyes to a side, Huntress stared wide eyed at the sight of Katana crouching down on the floor, her sword extended out in front of her as if she had just struck something—the gun obviously.

For a split-second, Black Mask looked stunned by this before he drew the grenade launcher towards his right before swinging it out. The weapon slammed into Katana's face, knocking her off her feet as she let out a cry of pain. "Why won't you bitches, die?!" he screamed in fury as he turned to aimed his assault rifle at the fallen woman.

However, he never got the chance to fire it. One moment he was just about to have his barrel pointed right at Katana, even as Huntress launched herself towards the man to stop him; the next moment a part of the wall and ceiling suddenly bust inward, sending pieces of cement blocks and metal flying all over the place. A loud blast filled the room as everyone in the room—at least Huntress assumed there were people other than Black Mask and the Birds of Prey still here—fled for cover. Even as she dove to a side, the purple-clad woman couldn't help but note that whatever was causing the wall caving in, it was big, black, and had a large, twisted propeller on it.

Oh Jesus, was that a helicopter?

* * *

"Take cover!"

That had been yelled by Robin just moments before the Batclan leapt off the edge of the building, falling the short distance down to the one next to it. Just then, a helicopter zoomed overhead, a strong wind whipping at them in its wake.

Zatanna felt the impact of her landing through her legs, grimacing as she weathered the throbbing jolts. Next to her, the vigilantes went into rolls the moment they hit, ending up crouched low on the roof. While the dark-haired woman felt that was perhaps better on their legs, she had on clothes that wouldn't have held up as well as their spandex and she wasn't going to ruffle them up just yet.

"We can't just keep running," Batgirl suddenly shouted, her eyes focused on the helicopter in front of them as it turned around to come back at them. "Sooner or later, it's going to start shooting."

"So how do you intend on bringing it down?" Nightwing shot back. "None of us exactly have a bazooka in our belts."

As true as that was, they weren't exactly helpless; they had the Mistress of Magic on their side, even if she wasn't at the peak of power now. She just needed something…

Glancing to her left, Zatanna's eyes fell onto a small water tower. Well, she could most definitely use that. Gathering her magical energies, she focused them on the water within the tower. "Retaw nogard kcatta!"

A rose-colored aura glowed around the tower before a groaning sound was made. The tank at the top began to bulge on its side, then the other, and then on the roof. Finally, a sharp shriek rang out before the roof ripped open and a pillar of water shot up into the sky. Out of the corner of Zatanna's eye, she could see the young Batclan members watch in awe, much to her pleasure.

That was when the top of the water pillar began to form a serpentine shape, a twin pair of whiskers emerging from what appeared to be a snout. Horns began to grow out of the head one by one, a dragon's head fully formed. Its snout snapped open, reveal sharp-looking teeth before the water dragon whipped its head towards the approaching helicopter. Arching its body, the dragon charged at the aircraft, racing towards it

The pilots obviously didn't like what was coming towards them, but their efforts to turn the helicopters away were all for naught. The water dragon caught up to the aircraft and consumed it, the silhouette of the helicopter the only thing that could be seen of it through the water.

"Dnuorrus," Zatanna chanted as she thrust an arm out to the hovering dragon. That's when the dragon lost it shape and the water flowed until it formed a large sphere in midair. It then began to move towards a building, slowly setting down.

Then, Zatanna released her spell, the giant ball of water losing it shape and pouring all over the structure. Left in its wake was the helicopter, sitting upside down on the rough, dripping with streams of water.

"That...was incredible," Robin spoke after awhile.

"Thank you," Zatanna acknowledged, a coy smile on her face.

Suddenly, a new helicopter shot into view right in front of them, rising from the edge of the building dramatically.

 _Oh shit!_ the magician swore in her head as she instinctively threw both of her arms up in front of her, aiming them at the aircraft as she summoned her magic. "Snopaew emoceb syot!"

Whatever reason Zatanna had for that spell, she really had no idea, but she was glad as an instant later, red lights began flashing from the helicopter's machine guns. The familiar sound of laser beams firing filled the air, reminiscent of a laser tag gun.

For a moment, everyone seemed stunned by this, even the aircraft's pilots. They got over their shock quickly though as they turned to their missile launchers. Of course, if they could puzzle out Zatanna's backwards spell, they would've realized just how useless she had made their weapons before they fired out rodes from the missile pods, cloth rolling down from the rods until revealed themselves to be flags with the word BANG! written on them.

Was a casual flick of her wrist, Zatanna spoke dismissively, "Dnal ereht," the helicopter suddenly flying off as it went to land on another building roof.

"Geez, you weren't kidding about the magic," Nightwing observed out loud. "Just how much of that do you have left?"

The dark-haired woman shot him a smirk and that was all she would respond with to him. In all honesty, she was starting to run low. She could maybe take out another helicopter or two, assuming they didn't have another missile attack to worry about. Having to turn rockets into something else in midair while it was flying at MACH 1 was not an easy feat, something she'd been forced to do for most of the night.

Fortunately, Robin was the one to speak up then, sparing the magician from having to continue the conversation. "I say we change roofs. There's no telling where another helicopter is and I don't want a repeat of what just happened. Once we get a better vantage point, we can decide our next move."

Hmm, not a bad idea on the kid's part. "I agree," Zatanna added. "We're too hot to just stay in one place."

Nightwing nodded his agreement. "So we need somewhere high, right? How about the Powers Hotel? That might give us somewhere to work."

"Lead the way," the dark-haired woman said.

That was when the Batclan members turned and began jogging to one side of the roof, Zatanna following behind them. As they launched themselves off the edge of the roof, throwing their cable lines at anchor points in midair, Zatanna came to a stop at the ledge as she watched them. Out of the corner of her eye, she caught sight of another helicopter flying down the street towards them.

Turning her head to look at the aircraft, the magician glanced to the street below, noting how empty it was. "Evah a teuquob," she chanted.

Out of nowhere, a large bouquet of flowers fell down on top of the helicopter, surrounding it in giant flowers and forcing it down to the street. The corner of the dark-haired woman's mouth twitched up as she watched the bouquet land on the asphalt, standing with the wrapped stems pointing up in the air as the petals bloomed out on the road.

 _And that's another helicopter out._

* * *

Raising himself from his cover, Black Mask glared at the sight in front of him. One of his boys had flown one of his helicopters into his building and landed on top of a lot of his fear toxin and crushed...he knew not how much of it.

Saying he was pissed off about it, that was putting it lightly. Somebody was going to die for this. The pilot and the guy who found him.

His anger grew as he saw many of the missiles broken open and spilling out the toxin all over the place. A fucking waste. Was it too much to ask for competent people around here?

Gripping his assault rifle tightly, he made his way to the wreckage, determined to find any survivors in it. When he was done, there wouldn't be any survivors.

Moving around an untouched missile, something in the corner of his eyes caught his attention. For a second, he thought it might have been oil. When he turned his full attention on it, he found that it looked nothing like the black liquid. That looked like clothing...that was on a body...that looked an awful lot like…

"Batman," he said in a hushed tone, his grip on his gun loosening for a second.

Then it tightened once more. Now this explained it. Somehow, the Batman had figured out where he had been hiding out. Crazy bastard crashed the helicopter into the building, probably trying to be like one of those turban heads. Heh, didn't figure that the Bat was the suicidal type.

There he was, lying up against the helicopter wreckage, not even moving a muscle. Was he hurt? Was he alive? Why wasn't he moving? Couldn't see the asshole's eyes from this angle. If he was still alive, then him just laying there was like he was asking for someone to kill him.

Far be it for him to ignore that death wish.

"Between you and me, this ain't personal," he said as he raised his assault rifle up, aiming it at the masked freak. "Just business."

"Roman Sionis."

Black Mask froze, his real name stopping him from pulling the trigger. That voice, he knew that voice! But that was freaking impossible! Spinning around, his mouth fell open, or would have had his mask not prevented it, as he stared at the sight of the Phantasm surrounded in smoke that was laced with that fear toxin of Crane's, looming like a ghost of Christmas Future.

Pointing that right hand of hers that was deadlier than it should have been, the Phantasm finished, "Your angel of death awaits."

You couldn't be serious.

"You're starting to become a pain in the ass, bitch," he retorted. "I guess Sal wasn't enough to keep you around til ya were blown to smithereens." Taking in the full sight of his former assassin, he noted how the bitch was keeping much of her body hidden in that smoke of hers. It was like she was trying hide...something…

It clicked all together.

"You're the crazy bastard who crashed the party," he realized. "So that how he's here." He nodded his head in Batman's direction. "And you're not looking so good yourself," he added.

Readying that knife hand, the Phantasm replied, "The same could be said of you."

"Maybe," he shrugged. "But it's just you, me, and my boys." He raised his voice with those last words, his men revealing themselves in all their armed-to-the-teeth glory. "Let's see you get yourself out of this one."

Countless bullets rained onto the masked killer, the bitch throwing her arms up and out while covering herself in that smoke. Fat chance that was going to help her. When it cleared, she was gonna be nothing but Swiss cheese in there. Keep pouring the lead, boys, they were taking this bitch out!

Black Mask winced as several bullets whizzed past him, a little too close for his liking. "Don't shoot me, you idiots! Shoot her!" he bellowed. If they heard him or not, he was unsure, but going by the fact that several shots struck near him, he was betting that they hadn't. Christ, what were they, deaf?

The shooting soon died off as they emptied their gun chambers, running out of ammo until there was nothing but empty clicks coming out of the gun barrels. Heh, wondered what that cunt looked like now. That smoke was still blocking sight of her, which was really annoying by the way, but not for much longer. It was starting to shrink and—

His eyes widened.

Completely untouched...and still standing there. The Phantasm looked like nothing had even touched her!

"What the hell?" he blurted out. "How...?"

Then she struck, swinging that knife hand of hers at him. He was lucky that his reflexes were still good as he blocked with his assault weapon. The rifle was torn out of his hands from the force of her blow, but if she thought she had him, she had another thing coming.

Pulling his right arm back, he balled his hand into a fist and swung it with all his might, not holding back at all. Bam! Right in the kisser! The Phantasm's head snapped to a side, the assassin stumbling back. Not giving her an inch, he landed a second and a third blow before grabbing the bitch by her shoulders and slamming her up into an untouched missile.

He took some pleasure in smashing her masked face into it, shoving her onto the floor, sending her skidding against the concrete surface.

"You're not so tough," he taunted as he cracked his knuckles. "I'm surprised you managed to off Sal's boys. They're more pathetic than I thought if _you_ were able to whack 'em."

As the bitch was pushing herself up, Black Mask kicked at her, his foot planting itself on her ass and sending her forward. This was pathetic, really.

Deciding to be a nice guy since she had helped him get rid of Sal and his crew, he reached into his suit jacket and pulled out a pistol. Aiming the gun at the masked woman's back, he figured that he owed her some last words before he put her down like the bitch she was.

"I'd say it was fun, but I'd be lying," he said. "Just so you know, if you were wondering, I told Sal where you and your old man were hiding. He wanted me to give him something as a sign of trust between us, and well, my old man was good for something. Managed to keep you guys a secret from Sal and his boys for all those years, then he told me thinking I'd keep helping. Guess in the end, I wasn't a trustworthy guy, was I?"

Hey, he never said that those last words would come from her.

As he tightened his trigger finger, something struck it from the side, knocking his aim off and sending his shot off somewhere else.

Crying out from the pain he felt, he spun around to find who had the balls to do that and found a Batman waiting in the wings.

* * *

He wasn't in his best shape right now. The helicopter crash had taken a lot out of him. Fortunately, Black Mask had been distracted with Andrea long enough for him to get his second wind.

That let him learn one last piece to the connection between Andrea and Roman Sionis. How Sionis had betrayed the Beaumonts so that he could get Valestra on his side. It was also the confirmation that Carl Beaumont was indeed dead. Now he could see how Sionis and Strange were able to bring her in and convince her to murder those gangsters.

None of it excused what she had done, but for now he would focus on the puppet master.

With a bat-shaped shuriken, he threw off Black Mask's aim as he was about to fire and now had his full attention.

"You!" Black Mask snarled. "What is it with you people and not dying?"

No words were spoken; this madman deserved none. However, he noticed that Black Mask's thugs had reloaded and were training their guns at him. They had held back while Sionis had assaulted Andrea, letting their boss have his kicks. Now that the moment was ruined, they were ready to save the skull-masked man, only seconds away from firing their weapons.

He counted one—two—four—eight of them in total and almost scowled at the distance between them and him. They were too far away for hand-to-hand combat, he didn't think he would be able to throw enough shuriken to throw all of their aims off, and he was still recovering from the crash. All of that added up to this being a bad situation.

One of the men suddenly cried out as an arrow pierced straight through his wrist. His cry of pain diverted the attention of the other men, making them open targets for Katana to take two of them out, first by slicing their guns in half then striking them down by hitting them in the heads with the flat of her blades.

As the remaining men tried to reorganize and fight back, Huntress and Black Canary flanked them. Huntress busied herself with disarming a man with her bo staff while Black Canary tripped another by swiping his legs out from under him.

Unexpected, but welcomed. Now he could focus on Black Mask.

"You've got to be kidding me," Black Mask swore, distracted by the Birds of Prey's intervention.

Batman took full advantage of that. He leapt at Black Mask, who remembered that he had another enemy close by and was turning back to aim his gun at him. Throwing an arm out, he hit the weapon out of Black Mask's hand, the gun clattering on the floor. With his other fist, he threw a punch into Black Mask's face, knocking him back.

He hid a wince as the hit could be felt in his own hand. Seemed like Black Mask had had his mask reinforced. Unexpected, but he could still work with that.

Growling in anger, Black Mask took a swing at him, his aim wild and easy to dodge. A second one was evaded just as easily. The vigilante could tell that his opponent was getting angrier with each miss, becoming more wild with his punches. After one came close enough, Batman brought an arm down and curled it under Black Mask's, trapping it. With his other the vigilante landed a shot into the masked man's gut once, then twice. As Black Mask bent over, coughing harshly, Batman twisted his body slightly, arm raised and bent, before swinging his elbow into Black Mask's head, releasing his arm simultaneously.

Black Mask stumbled onto the concrete floor, coming down onto his knees and holding his stomach with one of his arms The only thing that kept him from collapsing was that he held himself up with his other arm, hand pressed against the floor.

"It's over, Sionis." It was a statement, the first words he had spoken to the man in three years.

"No," Black Mask coughed. "It's not over 'til I say it is." The skull-masked man forced himself back onto his feet, eyes glaring balefully from the mask's eyeholes.

Batman clenched his fist tightly. He figured the other man would say something like that; he wasn't one to give up so easily, especially not when he believed he was close to his goal. There was only one way to put a stop to this.

Not waiting for Black Mask to fully recover, he went on the offense. He attempted to tackle his opponent to the floor, but Black Mask put up some resistance. The two of them grappled, neither willing to give an inch. Batman held tightly onto the masked man's wrist, Black Mask doing the same with his other.

Then, throwing his head back, Black Mask slammed his reinforced mask against his cowled one. The pain dazed the vigilante; seeing this, Black Mask didn't let up and landed another head butt, then a third. His grip loosening, Black Mask slipped his wrist out then decked him as hard as he could.

Batman managed to retain his balance, but soon had to fight to keep it as his opponent landed another blow. With a shoulder tackle, Black Mask shoved him back, moving the fight into the helicopter wreckage. The vigilante grunted as he back met up with the helicopter, his head snapping to a side when another blow landed against his cheek.

Not satisfied, Black Mask kneed him in the stomach, a bit awkward yet cushioned by the armor he wore. Nonetheless, that attack was followed by another and another until he was able to start blocking again.

Seeking control of the fight once more, he blocked another punch that was aiming for his head and followed up with a blow to Black Mask's torso, knocking him back and gaining some space in the process. Nearly tripping over a piece of wreckage, Black Mask spotting a piece of one of the helicopter's propellers. Taking the time to snatch it up, he began using the propeller piece as a club, swinging it at Batman.

He dodge the first swing, then the second, the propeller piece striking the side of the helicopter. Throwing out a hand, he pinned the piece of metal against the downed aircraft. However, Black Mask took a page out of his book and threw his elbow into his face, allowing him to wretch the propeller piece out of the Dark Knight's grip.

 _Bam!_ The metal struck him, causing him to stumble back. For a moment, he felt a wave of weakness fall over him, which was followed by a second hit from the makeshift club. This time he practically spun around, almost tripping over his own booted feet. Finally, the third hit was the one that brought him down, striking him on top of his head. The next thing he knew, he was on his back, eyes on the ceiling and trying to gain his bearings.

He got some help with that when Black Mask came into view and pinned him down with his leg, the lower leg settled on his chest while the masked maniac used the rest of his body's weight to hold him down.

"You're not so tough," Black Mask panted out. "Now I've got'cha where I want ya. You know, you should've stayed gone, Bats. But don't worry, I'll take real good care of Gotham from now on." He raised up the helicopter propeller, turning it so that an edge was angled at him and not a more blunt surface. "'Fore I kill ya, answer me this. How'd you think you could stop me? It's not like you could, even on your best day."

Spotting the necktie he was wearing, Batman shot an arm out and grabbed, pulling down with whatever strength he still had, and forced Black Mask until his masked face was only a foot away from his. Glaring in anger, he snarled his next words at him, echoing Carl and Andrea Beaumont in the process.

"Whatever it takes!"

He didn't hold back. In order to keep his balance, Black Mask wasn't putting as much weight on him, allowing the vigilante to move his other arm enough that he could deck him. However, because of how Black Mask had situated his body, the path his arm had to take in order to land his punch was not one it was accustomed to. Instead of getting him in the side of the face, Batman struck the lower jaw instead.

What the...that was different. Whenever he had hit a blow on Black Mask's head, there had always been some resistance, the reinforced material pushing back against him. Not this time. That meant that Black Mask's mask was not only one whole piece; it had a weak spot to it.

Shoving the suited villain off him, Batman pushed himself onto his feet once more, his third wind taking hold. Black Mask was ready for him, or thought he was. He swung that propeller at him, only to be blocked with the spiked gauntlets he wore. With his other hand, he grabbed the other end of the propeller piece and with a quick maneuver, slipped it out of Black Mask's hands and flung it away.

Then he reached out and grabbed the front of Black Mask's suit, pulling him close. One punch to the lower jaw. Still holding together. A second punch. Something was starting to give out but the mask held together. A third, harder punch. He heard the crack without needing to actually see it. The fourth punch sealed that mask's fate, tearing a chunk of the detachable jaw off, small gears flying every which way.

He could see the scars, mementoes from his experience as Joker bait. It didn't earn any sympathy, not stopping Batman from landing a fifth punch. He let go of Black Mask, letting him stumble into a damaged crate from which weaponized canisters of fear toxin leaked out. As the beaten man groaned, Batman approached him, braced to fight but ready to apprehend him.

At the last second, Black Mask spun around, holding a canister out and ready to detonate it. Thanks to his quick reflexes, Batman caught the man's wrists and forced them back just as the gaseous toxin was released.

With a portion of his mask damage, the aerosol poison had no trouble getting in when Black Mask took a large breath of it in due to his surprise at Batman's fast actions. Knocking the canister away, Batman grabbed the coughing man by the lapels of his suit and brought him close up one more time.

As Black Mask's coughs began to die down, he got a good look at the masked maniac's eyes, the pupils beginning to dilate as the toxin took hold.

* * *

Things were a little hazy, Black Mask couldn't quite describe it. He felt something hit his hands, the canister he had been holding now gone. Then he was grabbed and pulled, being held…

The sight that greeted him as the haze went away was like pouring cold water all over his body. A moment ago he had been fighting the Bat, ready to give the freak a taste of Crane's toxin. What was holding him was not Batman.

It was black skinned, had freaking fire coming out from its eyes, and had acid dripping from some wicked-looking fangs. Blood leaked out from blackened lips, adding to the ugly as a motherfucker face, and there were these horns. You could gut somebody with those! The monster growled at him and he sounded fucking hungry.

Oh God, he couldn't look at that! His sight shifted and he caught movement behind the fucker. Over there, far side of this place, he could see three more... _things_ massacring his boys. There were shrieks, screams, and _was that one sucking blood_? He could have swore one had fucking wings, and over there, that looked like some kind of praying mantis except worse! Was it eating _heads_?!

Again, his gaze changed and...oh fuck this shit, over there it was even worse!

Adrenaline surged through his body as he tore himself away from the first monster's grasp. Literally. Part of his suit jacket remained in clawed hands as he stumbled back and ran for his life. He needed to get the fuck out of here and—that thing was fucking chasing him.

Putting his hands together, he spun around and swung them, bashing them into the monster's head. Not stopping to see if that worked, he dashed for an emergency exit, slamming the door open and continuing to run. He tried not to pay attention to what was outside, something told him instinctively not to. Just focus on running, keep running, get away as far as you can, and if you couldn't run—HIDE!

He ran around a corner and skidded to a stop, slamming his back into the brick and mortar wall and panting like he had run a hundred miles. Everything was on alert, his every sense trying to pick up on anything that might try to hurt him. He was so fucking scared right now he…

Was he out of his fucking mind?! Get a fucking hold of yourself, Roman! You're the fucking Black Mask! You're not afraid of anyone! Not the cops. Not some fucking clown in the looney bin. Not some cunts playing Halloween. Especially not that one cunt. And definitely not the Batman! You're the man! You're the one whose suppose to be in fucking charge!

Yeah, yeah that's right. This was...this was because of that gas—the fear toxin! Okay, okay, at least he knew now the stuff fucking worked. Which was great. You know? That Scarecrow guy really knew what he was doing. Perfect. That meant those losers and pussies out there were terrified out of their minds. They'd be _begging_ him not to give them another taste of this stuff. Yeah, which meant that...that...that Operation Dread was a success!

Okay, Roman, all you need to do is get a hold of yourself, and get somewhere safe. Then you could beginning figuring out a way to kill those fuckers back there. Fucking torture them. Make fucking examples of them. Show Gotham, no, the whole world that no one messes with you.

"Roman Sionis."

He froze up. Oh God, oh God, oh God, that bitch had followed him, hadn't she? Get a grip, Roman. You took her on earlier. Kicked her fucking ass. Plus you had that fear toxin in your system. Sure, she'd look scarier but that's just it. _Look_. She wouldn't _be_ scarier. Or more dangerous.

Pushing away from the wall, he took a few steps away, looking around for any sign of the cunt. He wasn't finding anything, though he was breathing a little harder…

"Where the fuck are you?" he demanded. "Get your scrawny little ass out here! I'm not afraid of you!"

His body jerked as something sharp stabbed him from behind and exited from his front. He choked on his own spit as he stared down at what looked like a sword or a very long knife was sticking out.

Then the voice from earlier spoke again. "The Court of Owls has sentenced you to death."

The...what? Who…?

He managed to turn his head just enough to look over his shoulders and was met with a terrifying vision behind him.

The blade pulled out of him but soon return, cutting through his neck and forever ending any fear he would ever have.

* * *

Author's Note: And all of this right before Halloween. A little something to spice it up, at any rate. So who saw that ending coming? One more chapter to go now, we're almost there. So have a happy Halloween and see you in November.


	27. You Want a Battle? Here's a War

You Want a Battle? Here's a War

 **I will not take this anymore**

 **These words will never be ignored**

 **You want a battle**

 **Here's a war**

 **We will not take this anymore**

 **These words will never be ignored**

 **You want a battle**

 **Here's a war**

 **You Want a Battle? (Here's a War) by Bullet For My Valentine**

* * *

 _Propping itself up against the helicopter wreckage, the Phantasm watched as the Batman dealt with its target. Exhaustion and injury was preventing it from taking action. The beating from Black Mask had only pushed it over its limits._

 _Those women, the ones it had encountered after escaping Valestra's penthouse, were making short work of Black Mask's men. They went as far as to take on the minions that were running into the scene, thus keeping themselves busy as well as preventing them from fighting Black Mask directly._

 _The main attraction of this place soon ended when Batman gave Black Mask a dose of the fear toxin he was so eager to spread across the city. The tough guy act he always gave collapsed as the toxin worked its way through his system and he fled like a coward. This would be the perfect opportunity to try to give chase...except that Batman was peering at it now._

 _A face off. That's what this was. It looked like Batman wanted to say_ something _but the words weren't coming out. The Phantasm wished not to hear any of it. It was also obvious that if it did go after Black Mask, Batman would intercept. There would be no winning this time._

 _It covered itself with smoke, and masked its escape. There would be another time._

Helena could hear the leather of her glove squeak as she tightened her fist. Her mask lay cast aside on the floor where she sat, her dark eyes staring at her fist.

Despite everything, the fighting, the danger, Sionis got away. Even with Batman leading the charge, all they had managed to do was knock out a bunch of thugs and goons. It was completely unsatisfying to her.

The other Birds, on the other hand, didn't seem to feel this way. Katana was sharpening her sword, not the least bit disturbed at their failure this night. Black Canary was energized, the complete opposite of the other two women. The blonde was practically glowing from the night's festivities; it was as if she didn't care that the head honcho was still on the loose.

"We did something," Black Canary spoke breathlessly. "We actually did something big."

Helena raised an eyebrow at that. "What's that supposed to mean?" she snarled.

The other woman raised a hand to her face, running a hand through her long hair. "I mean, we took on a crime syndicate and kicked some tail. These weren't those Jokerz goons, but actual mobsters."

"Yeah, great," the dark-haired woman deadpanned. "But you're forgetting something; what about Black Mask?"

"We can worry about that tomorrow," Dinah brushed off. "We just helped stop a rising organization that wanted to gas the city. That victory enough for now."

"The head has been cut off from body," Katana...agreed, or at least that's what Helena thought. That was until the Asian woman added, "But that not make head any less deadly."

God...damn it. We're they all just some running spectrum of attitude-positive, negative, and neutral? That was so annoying.

"Yet, we must talk," Katana continued, keeping the room's attention on her. "When we fight Black Mask, you took dangerous shot."

Helena felt her mouth twitch. A rush of images hit her, most prominently her killshot on Sionis. So, they were going to talk about that.

"I didn't really have much of a choice," she defended. "It was either take the shot or let Dinah become a young corpse."

"I'm sure H didn't mean to go for his head," Dinah spoke up then. "We were in the heat of battle and she saw an opening. I mean, it wasn't like she was trying to kill him or anything."

"Is that so?" Katana questioned, eyeing the dark-haired woman critically.

For a moment, Helena toyed with the idea of bursting blondie's bubble, but seeing the way the other women were looking at her, she quickly shelved it. Holding their steady gazes, she finally gave in and answered, "I was just trying to hit him. It just happened the arrow hit him in the head."

"See? It was just a coincidence," Dinah said. "Now, let's get out of our fancy dress and go hit up a bar or something. We need to celebrate this."

"If she says," the Asian woman acknowledged.

The purple-clad woman narrowed her eyes. Apparently Katana didn't believe her one bit; that was okay though, she didn't need her approval. This was a one time thing, nothing more.

 _Returning to the apartment, Andrea had taken off the Phantasm's mask, and placed herself on the bed. Sionis' words still echoed in her head, the betrayal that he had committed and the fact that he had used her to clean up after him…_

 _What had all this been for? Her father was dead. The men who committed the act were dead. The man who was responsible for all of it was out of her reach. She felt so...empty._

 _All the blood, all the death, the stalking and the slaying, none of it had put anything_ right _. This wasn't how it was supposed to be. This wasn't how it was supposed to end up! All she had wanted was some justice, retribution for her suffering, for everything that she had left behind._

 _For hurting...Bruce…_

 _Even now, even after all this, at the very least she had spoken with him, told him the story. After Valestra's death, she had known that things were about to get worse, a lot worse. If anything happened to her, she knew that she couldn't let Bruce continue to live with the pain that that letter had brought him. He deserved better than that. He deserved whatever happiness he could get, even if it was with that other woman._

 _Whatever rights she had ever had...they were effectively gone._

It had been a frustrating night. Sionis was missing, escaped to a place only he knew. Couple that with Andrea's disappearance and it seemed like nothing had been accomplished.

Sitting at the supercomputer, Batman finished typing in his account of what had transpired-the helicopter attack, fighting Andrea and then Sionis, and then the GCPD cleaning up the damage. Or continuing to clean up. People were still being effected by the toxin, and if he recalled correctly, Crane had said it would take days for it to be treated. At the very least the False Face Society had been dealt a blow and would be licking their wounds for the time being.

That just left tracking down Sionis' lieutenants. While many had been apprehended the previous night, others like Hugo Strange were still on the run and it would take some time to tie this off. It was something the vigilante didn't look forward to.

And then he felt her behind him. Hitting the last few keys, Batman saved his prompt and closed it, leaning back in his chair as he stared at the computer monitor. "How are you doing?" he asked out loud.

"Tired, but I'll live," Zatanna answered him. She then placed her hand on his shoulder, letting it linger there. "How about you?"

He sighed. "Tonight was a mess."

"How often do you have a clean ending?" the magician retorted.

"A lot more often than I have missing crime bosses and assassins." Pushing down on the armrests with his hands, he stood up and turned to face the dark-haired woman, her hand falling to her side. "You should go clean up."

"In a minute," Zatanna responded, "I have something I need to tell you."

"Which is?"

It was then Batman noticed the tension in the woman. It was as if she were nervous, unsure of what or how to say what she wanted. It was often she looked this way, but the vigilante was having to seriously think of the last time he saw her this way.

"Bruce, I need to leave."

He blinked his eyes owlishly as he soaked in those words. "Leave?"

Zana nodded her head, her eyes not meeting his as she looked down to the ground. "Yeah. I've been thinking lately and it seems like...like…"

She was grasping at some thought, something that had been troubling her and Batman was just now realizing this. He had to admit, he didn't really like the thought of this, not to mention the direction of this conversation. It was almost as if they were two teenagers having their first break-up.

Suddenly, the dark-haired woman shook her head as if to clear it, her eyes finally meeting his. "Let me start over. From the beginning. I think that would be best."

"That's how most things start," the dark-clad man replied.

Zatanna took in a deep breath and then released it. "It's been a hectic week, you know? And not just this one, but the entire month since you came back.

"And this entire time I felt like we could pick up right where we left off three years ago. At first it seemed like it, but then I began to realize that things had changed. I mean, you've been having to get back into Gotham and all and then came your ex and then Black Mask."

Where was she going with this? Frankly, Batman didn't have much of a clue, though his gut was telling him that perhaps his previous impression was not too far off.

Again, Zatanna stopped herself before muttering, "This isn't working either." She then steeled herself as she looked him dead in the eye. "Do you care for me?"

That made the vigilante jerk back with surprise. "Zana, what are you-?"

"Just answer the question, Bruce," she pressed.

It took a couple moments before he slowly said, "I do."

"And you know I feel the same, right?"

He nodded his head in answer.

"Then you can guess what I want from you." She didn't give him a chance to answer. "For there to be an _us._

"But lately, I've been feeling as if perhaps this isn't the best time. Like I said, you just got back and I completely expected us to go right back where we left off, but now that I think about it, I don't think either of us are ready for that. Too much time has gone by and we've changed too much from what we were."

It was now Batman was sure he knew what was happening, and to be honest he agreed with Zatanna's statement-even if he could feel those words gnawing his insides hollow. "There's...a part of me that wants to open every door for you," he began hesitantly, building up courage as he continued.

He could see Zatanna's face become sadden as he heard his words. "And the other part?"

"Cares enough for you to keep them closed."

A sad smile graced her lips them. "For now?"

The way she said it, it was as if she were searching for some sort of...of hope. And to be honest, he wished it would be true. "For now."

Simultaneously, they reached out for each other, Batman wrapping his arms around the dark-haired woman's waist as she placed hers around his neck. However, before they closed the distance, Zatanna moved her hands up, placing them on either side of his head. Slowly, she drew off his mask, revealing the face of Bruce Wayne in his melancholy.

Then they finally closed the distance, embracing each other. "We both deserve better than this," Bruce heard Zana murmur into his shoulder. "Neither one of us should be trapped in a one-sided relationship."

"What will you do?" he couldn't help but ask, his breath pushing against strands of her dark hair.

"I'm not sure. I was thinking of starting up the troupe again. It's been awhile since I did a show."

"You should do that then."

"Will you come?" Bruce heard the teasing tone in the magician's voice, a hint at his previous attendance.

"I will."

"And you won't just hide in the audience?"

"I may...buy some backstage passes."

That was when Zatanna shifted against him, raising her head up to look at him. She then rose up and planted a soft kiss against his cheek. "You can be sweet when you want to be, you know?"

The corner of his mouth twitched up at that. "Maybe for another day. Think you can wait?"

Even though he spoke those words, Bruce wasn't sure what he meant: a wait for his future acts of caring, or his affections. Both perhaps.

"I always have and I always will."

And he wasn't sure which Zana meant either.

Both perhaps.

 _She couldn't stay here. The realization hit her in that moment. Batman,_ he knew _. He had figured it out. She was compromised._

 _She couldn't stay here, she couldn't stay here in Gotham. The vigilante would track her down, come_ here _, and bring her in. Prison...that would be her future. No, she couldn't do that. She wouldn't. She would have to leave, go away._

 _But what about establishing ties with Wayne Enterprises? She had qualified people here to handle it. Earlier this day, the paperwork had been finalized. She had planned to stick around, but after tonight plans had...are changing. To possibly repair the damage with her relationship with Bruce...the confession she had given only a few days earlier had made that so much more possible. Now she would have to run again._

 _This time, it wasn't Daddy's fault. It was hers._

 _That hurt so much more than she had ever imagined._

This conversation was too important to be done on the phone. It was why they gathered in Dick's apartment, meeting face to face to talk about the last night. It was something that the three of them needed to do, to figure out where they were going to go from now.

Barbara had taken to sitting next to the window, looking out on the city beyond yet listening to the back and forth between Dick and Tim. With one leg folded, her hands clasped together against her lower leg, she rested her chin on her knee, letting her other leg dangle in whatever way it liked. The lights of the city were mundane yet held a...beauty to it, she supposed. She easily overlooked the neon signs that were more gaudy than attractive, instead focusing on the lights peeking out from windows and the headlights of cars as they drove through the streets.

None of it could drown out Dick and Tim. Since the Society's terrorist attack, Tim had been voicing a lot of doubts about their abilities to fight Gotham's criminals. Dick was opposing him, unwilling to give up so simply and...well, maybe tuning back in could give a better idea of where this discussion was.

"You were out there too, Dick! There were helicopters! Freaking helicopters! It's like the False Facers were going to _war_ ," Tim argued, gesturing wildly with his arms. "What were we even doing out there?"

"We were doing what we thought was right," Dick responded, sitting in a chair but not in any way relaxed. You could tell by looking at him that he was wound up. His arms were crossed, almost defensively she might add. "Do you think we should have locked ourselves in a closet instead while the Society was doing whatever it wanted? You saw them, Tim. Those rockets were being deliberately being fired at people, and that's not counting all the missiles being fired."

"But what did we do to stop any of it?" Tim retorted. "We just spent most of it running around, trying not to get ourselves killed!"

"We were helping Zatanna," Dick pointed out.

"And she did more than all of us put together," Tim replied.

Okay, they were starting to go in circles now. The thing was, Tim had a very good point. They hadn't really done anything except run around and try to avoid any bullets that were fired at them. Had they not been out there, what would that have changed? From where she was, she couldn't think of a thing. Sure, Dick had maybe saved Zatanna from an injury or two, but would that have done anything that mattered? Who knew what that woman was capable of? For all Barbara knew, she could have magicked away any wounds she could have gotten.

"How were we supposed to know they had helicopters, Tim? It's not like any of us can predict the future!"

That was Dick, also making a good point. How were they to know what the False Facers were capable of or even up to? Who could have predicted it? For all she knew, everyone had been caught off guard. Even Batman. Probably. Who knew with him?

That reminded her of his threat, the one to tell her father what she was up to late at night. That was the last thing she wanted and for the past few nights, the thought that her father would find out kept her up late, even later than she was used to at this point. She couldn't count how many hours she had spent staring up at the ceiling, all kinds of worst-case scenarios going through her head.

Compounded with everything else, Barbara was seriously considering hanging up her cape and going back to the average life of the daughter of the commissioner. Complete with the all the guys hoping to get out of some traffic tickets, the occasional death threats that were supposed to be addressed to dad, and the rare kidnapping/hostage incidents

Yeah, completely aver-

"Then we get better."

Barbara blinked. Dick's tone right there, it was different. It was more than enough to get her out of her thoughts and to really listen. This retort, to whatever Tim had just said, was enough to quiet her younger partner too, both of them waiting for Dick to continue.

"Yeah, we were outgunned, outmatched, and were pretty much helpless out there. We were not prepared, we weren't ready for... _that_. And yeah, it would be so easy to call it quits. To stop all this right now. Because what happens after this? An earthquake levels the city? An army marches down Main Street and starts an occupation? A zombie apocalypse?" Dick was really picking up steam now. "There's no way to be ready for any of that. Just like what happened that night. We weren't ready, so what do we do now? We get better. We get better at fighting. We get better equipment. We don't give up. That's when you know we're lost. When we give up because it's too hard. Because we're unable to do anything.

"I don't know about you two, but I'm not going to throw in the towel. Not yet. I can't predict what's going to happen tomorrow. Or in a month. Or in a year. But I know, after all this, that if I'm going to help Gotham, I need to get better. Everybody starts at the bottom, even the guys at the top, hell, even Batman. And every once in a while, the guys at the top get knocked back to the bottom. What then? Like I said, they learn from it, they get better, they fight their way back to the top.

"So, Tim. Barbara. You can do what you feel is right. You can throw in the towel and I won't hold it against you. If you feel like you can't...if you think that you might get killed, and that your families will have to put you six feet under, then I get it. I'm the orphan here. I'm don't have parents or anybody. I don't have anyone close to me who will miss me if I die." He fell quiet here, for a moment. Barbara thought she could hear her heart pounding in her chest, waiting for his next words.

"Do what you think you need to do," he said quietly. "I've already told you what I'm going to do."

Silence once reigned in the apartment, Dick staring into nothing while Tim was looking at the floor, biting his lip pensively. Barbara returned her gaze to the window, thinking about Dick's words.

"You're right," Tim said quietly. "It would be easy to give up now. And you're right, I still have my parents. And they're the reason why I out there with you guys. I want to be able to protect them, to make this city a better place, for them, for everyone. Yeah, the False Face Society really messed things up. But they showed me...us, so much more. They showed that if we're serious about this, then we can't just stick with fighting in the little leagues. We're gonna have to step up everything if we do want to make a difference."

"What'cha going to do?" Dick asked.

"If you'll have me, I want to stick around," Tim said, and Barbara could hear the confidence back in his voice. "If we're going to do this, we need to do it right. We need to do better, aim for better, and improve every day if we're to make it."

"What about you, Barb?" Now the question was being directed towards her.

What was she going to do? Even now, she could hear Batman, telling her to stop, telling her what measures he would take if she didn't. She thought of her dad, so stressed out from his job, spending so little time at home. You had to wonder if he even had a home. Yet, he was doing everything he could for this city to make it a better place.

There was no one else she looked up to, Batman excluded, and seeing how tired her dad was at the end of each day and going back to the same place to stress himself over and over again…

How could she do anything less? How could she give up when times were tough? She was a Gordon. She was her father's daughter. No one, not even Batman, was going to make her give this up. She was out there to not only follow in her father's footsteps, but in some small way make things easier for him. So that he wouldn't be so stressed after a day at the office. So that he could smile that much more.

"Did you have any doubts?" she asked rhetorically. "Gotham needs us to change so we can better protect her. Let's not let her down."

From the reflection on the window, she could see the faces of her partners and how they lit up at her answer. She had made the right choice.

And no one would tell her differently.

 _She may be in pain, but she wasn't the type to sit back and wallow in it. She didn't get depressed, she didn't get mad, she got even._

 _Like the last time, she knew who was responsible for this pain. The False Face Society. Black Mask. One way or another, she was going to hunt them down. They would face justice, whatever it took. If they thought they could run, they were sorely mistaken._

 _Perhaps it was fortunate that her business was concluding here. With those capable employees of hers, she could leave business in Gotham in their hands. Plus, Beaumont Accounting was in the middle of expanding, offering its services to corporations and companies spread across the world. Some of those places did not have extradition treaties with the United States._

 _This meant that even if Batman chased after her, if he turned her over to the authorities, they'd let her go. He would have to drag her back to Gotham physically, and by what means did he have to do that? He was a well-equipped vigilante, what was the extent of his resources? Not enough, in her opinion, track her down in a foreign country._

As the days since the False Face Society's attack passed, Gordon found himself under a lot of work, a lot of pressure, and little to no time to do it all in. Which was pretty much his job every day of the week. Nothing different.

In light of a helicopter attack on the city, the Feds had stepped in so that lessened the pressure on him. If the talk he had heard was right, those guys were here to pretty much cover their asses, especially since the helicopters that were confiscated happened to be military, and rumor was that several of them had gone missing from the nearest base.

An embarrassment for those involved, of course.

Maybe it was the presence of the Feds, or maybe something else had happened that night, because the False Facers were being very quiet. Really seemed strange since Black Mask hardly went a week without doing something. So far nothing, at least not since the tip had come in to raid the Sionis Steel Mill. So much incriminating evidence there, so many paper trails that hinted that some prominent citizens in the city were involved, it all required a task force to handle it all.

There was also a link to Arkham Asylum of all places, which made some sense since the man who had invented that fear toxin was a guest there. Crane, however, hadn't been in too good of shape when they had come to question him, and his therapist was nowhere to be found. Because said therapist's office had been bombed, there was no information they could use to figure out Crane's possible connection to the False Face Society or the whereabouts of the therapist. Perhaps this Professor Hugo Strange was another victim of the Society, found out too much and paid for it.

With nothing to lead them in Strange's direction as a victim or suspect, it had to be dropped.

He was starting to wonder how they had gotten through that night. Fear toxin all over the place, people tearing themselves and others apart out of panic, and trying to keep it all from coming down… The fact that they were barely able to keep it contained was in itself a miracle.

Don't get him wrong, it had all been ugly. There was nothing else to say about it.

To get his mind off that, he thought back to another matter: Montoya's phantom killer. Thanks to that incident where all those people saw him chase Edgar Dempsy into the streets, it gave the young detective more evidence to her theory. Naturally the media was commenting a lot of the killer's similarities with Batman, in particular his appearance. That alone gave her all she needed to put more resources into that investigation.

Thanks to Dempsy's body being recovered and the slash wounds being connected to not only the bodiless heads of the False Facers found after Halloween 2.0, but the Valestra gangster murders, Montoya was clearing another vigilante's name in the process. This phantom killer hadn't been seen or committed any more murders since the Dempsy murder, at least none that they've been able to identify. Gordon was sure that whoever it was, was still out there. People like that don't stop killing on their own.

He believed that Montoya had what it took to bring this killer to justice. She would have what she needed to resolve the case. That reminded him that he needed to see what was going on.

He'd do it later. Right now he was up on the roof of the department, a very familiar place for him. Unlike many smoke breaks he had taken up here, he wasn't alone. Not a new thing, but what was new was that there was someone else up here.

That someone else was Harvey Dent. Dent was standing on a small step ladder and was leaning over a large searchlight that was position on the northeast corner of the building, quite the distance from the A/C units. From where the commissioner stood, he could see the attorney's arm moving back and forth, a paint brush in one hand and he made some touches to the searchlight's glass.

"I think that should do it," Dent proclaimed as he pulled away, looking down on his work with face that showed a sense of accomplishment.

"For the record, I really don't feel comfortable with this," Gordon said. "It's too...open. Too showy."

"Both you and I know it'll work," Dent said, dismissing his concern as he stepped off the stepladder.

"Because it worked the last time." There was some sarcasm there, he would admit.

"Jim, this here is more than just a way to make a very loud and, what were your words, showy call," Dent replied as he set down a paint can, the paint brush placed on top of it. "This is a sign, a sign of who's really in charge here. Something to scare the piss out of the Society, the Jokerz, the mob, and any two-bit criminal running around out there. It's time to give them something to be afraid of, and everybody else something to look up to and know that things are going to be alright."

"You should fire your PR staff," he advised. "You're making them look bad."

"Give them a break," Dent joked back. "In all seriousness, when you were doing this three, four years ago, I can see why you wouldn't want to call any attention to yourself. Gotham has changed. The bad guys are becoming louder and flashier. We need to take this battle to them. This is step one."

"You have very interesting ideas of what step one is," he commented as he took a few steps closer to the modified searchlight.

"Since you're right there, mind turning it on?" Dent asked. "I'd do it but...I think someone else deserves the honor around here."

Gordon glanced at the on switch. All he had to do was reach out and flick it. Very easy to do, but that wasn't why he was hesitating. There was a part of him that believed that during the False Face Society's attack, the Batman had been out there, doing whatever he could to stop it. He knew, without a doubt, and based on other incidents like the Night of Ice and the Great Gotham Fire, that he had been out there, stopping helicopters and tracking down Black Mask.

Then there was the part of him that was still cautious. He could not forget that three year absence. The trust that he had place in the vigilante was still shaky. Could he really, truly trust that he was here to stay? That he wouldn't abandon this city again? Would flicking that switch right there be an act of forgiveness, that he was condoning this?

For a moment, he was back in those days where people like Falcone and Maroni were still running the show, he had a breakdown in the professionalism and work ethic in the department, and the city was going down the drain in an unstoppable spiral. Jaded as he was, like he was being offered now, he had been presented with an opportunity to make a change. He had had questions then, as he still did now. He had had his doubts.

When it was all said and done, he had made his decision, and accepted the help of a vigilante. One who had brought the fight to the mob. One who had saved the city time and time again. One who had saved his own daughter.

Giving the switch one good look, he rubbed his thumb against his fingertips, debating silently for a few seconds more. Then he made his decision.

Reaching out, he flicked that switch, turning the searchlight on, and shooting a beam of light up into the sky. There, now hovering over the city was a large circle of light and in the middle of it a large, dark space. A space that took the shape of a bat. A bat who now looked over the city and offered protection and safety under its leather wings.

"This is only the start, Jim," Dent said. "It's good to know you're on board."

"Like you said...Harvey. This is only a start," Gordon replied. "I may still be skeptical, but I'm not one to ignore a resource."

"Then I guess we'll have to change that," Harvey retorted, giving him a small smirk.

"We'll see about that," Gordon agreed, looking up to the heavens and that sign of the city's guardian.

 _She needed to put Gotham behind her. There wasn't much there that she could say made her want to stay. That which did hold her back was...an option that was no longer available. Bruce had made his own life, without her, and there was no place in it that she belonged. They had finally had their closure; the only thing left was business._

 _At least, that was all she had to tell herself._

 _She needed to be pragmatic. If she was to accomplish her goals, she could let nothing hold her back. Beaumont Accounting would be a means to allow her to travel freely, and financed as well, to continue her new hunt. Already she had her next target._

 _This target had already fled to Europe, where they thought it was safe. It was a good thing then that her company was opening a new branch in Zurich._

 _Would she ever return to Gotham? Not in the cards. There was much to do, and justice to wreak. This would be a lonely path she would take. It didn't bother her at all, that little fact._

 _She was already alone._

Peering through the window, a Russian who went by the name of Neski stared balefully at the sight that had had his men spooked. A touching little nightlight for the scared Americans. He was really starting to hate this city.

Why the hell was he sent back here? It was obvious to a blind man that his employer, Valdimir Mashkov, wanted a piece of this Godforsaken city. As much as Gotham was compared to being a shithole, which it was in comparison with St. Petersburg, and rife with so much crime as to make the rest of New Jersey look like Connecticut, there was still money to be had here. A lot of it.

Everyone wanted a piece. That included the Mashkov Crime Family, headquartered in Moscow but also other large cities like his personal favorite, St. Petersberg. Despite this overwhelming need the Boss had to have a piece of the Gotham cake, he was...to put it in a word, too terrified to set foot in it. It wasn't because he was scared of the big bad American gangsters here. The Boss chewed them up and spit them out for breakfast.

Four to five years ago, something much worse than an American mobster had struck fear into the iron man that was Valdimir Mashkov. Neski would know, he had been there for that.

Only was it now that the Boss had decided it was time to make another move, to return to Gotham. Three years with no sign of the vigilante that had seeded unspeakable terror into the Russian mobster had convinced him that it was safe enough. Neski would have to disagree with that.

Gangsters being killed, fake Batmen running about, people dressing up like clowns, and then this so-called False Face Society, no, Gotham was far from being safe. Too bad that Neski couldn't argue with the Boss, even if he wanted to. Mashkov was not someone you argued with unless you had a death wish. Neski valued his own skin enough to keep quiet and nod.

Turning away from the window blinds, he settled himself on a ratty-looking couch and crossed his arms over his chest. Had his mother been alive, she would have told him not to pout. He wasn't, but that didn't change that he was completely unhappy with this.

Whatever. The first shipments would be coming in any moment. This warehouse he was setting up would be a good start to smuggle in drugs, guns, and anything else one might wish to get but the market was shying away from. From inside the small room he holed himself in, he could hear the sounds of the men outside setting up and getting ready.

You know, this called for a drink.

Now where did he put that flask? Not there, oh, there it was. Didn't usually put it in that pocket. He blamed it on this city. God, he hated it. The sooner he could take care of business here, the sooner he could, hopefully, get back. The Boss better be happy with any progress he made here. Happy enough to come back himself and run the joint. Maybe show these Americans what real mobsters were.

Unsealing the flask's cap, he took a quick sip, letting the alcohol burn down his throat. That was better. Nothing to take the edge off better.

That thought prompted him to take a second sip, then a third just because. Screwing the cap back on, he stuffed the flask back into his pocket and relaxed. Sure he could be doing something better with his time, but he had enough faith that the men out there knew what they were doing. They were adults, they could handle themselves without him needing to be there to hold their hands. So he could stay in here and protect himself from the falling temperatures outside.

From the sounds of things, it was getting quieter out so they must be finishing up. Not bad, he had to admit. Not bad at…

Wait, it was getting quieter out there?

He sat up and listened carefully, trying to pick up any of the numerous sounds that should have been making a racket out there. For a second, he thought he should get his ears checked because he couldn't tell if anything was going on out there. Pushing himself off the couch, he made his way the door and cracked it open, hoping to hear any sound of life.

Nothing. Now he was on alert and, wait where was his gun? Since four years ago, he had gotten into the habit of carrying a gun with him at all times and where had he-

Suddenly, the door forced itself open, slamming into his face and knocking him back. He fell ass first onto the ground, his hands pressed against his head as he tried to ease the pain he was experiencing. Groaning, he parted his fingers just enough to see through them and what he saw…

Tall, dark, imposing, and the most soulless white eyes he had ever seen. But this was not the first time he had seen them. Oh no, this was most definitely not the first time and please, oh please, let this be some kind of bad dream! Let him wake up as soon as possible. He couldn't take this!

"Neski," a deep voice growled out, a voice he had never forgotten.

Knowing that trying to cover his face was not going to save him, Neski lowered his hands, revealing his paling face as he stared up in terror at the figure that was the Batman.

"We need to talk."

* * *

Author's Note: And there it is, the last chapter of this installment. Kinda ended a bit messy, didn't? Only the Scarecrow captured while two get away and the other is killed off. But wasn't Batman supposed to get them all? He's Batman! That's the beauty of this story as it was intended to end messy. It shows how out of practice Batman is since the events of _Genesis_ and also how much Gotham has changed. He's getting back into the swing of things, though, and has some new allies to call on at this time. Will he take advantage of them in the future? The answer to that will be in the sequel to this story: _Rise of the Fifty Daggers_. Anyone care to guess who'll the Dark Knight will be facing off with? Hope you all enjoyed and hope to see you return for more.


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